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3   1822  01116  3169 


JAMES 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


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A(,RES  Of-  worms 
140  ^Afipic  AveNue 

UONO  BBACH.  CALIF. 


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3   1822  01116  3169 


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MRS.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL 


He  dragged  the  heavy  hangings  to  the  floor,  disclosing  Palmer. 
FRONTISPIECE.    See  page  100. 


MRS.  MARDEN'S 
ORDEAL 


BY 

JAMES  HAY,  JR. 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  BY 
ARMAND  BOTH 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1918 


Copyright,  1918, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published,  April,  1918. 


To  B. 


MRS.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL 


CHAPTER  I 

A  CCORDING  to  ordinary  standards,  I 
-^*-  should  consider  Charlie  Corcoran's 
tragedy  greater  than  mine — particularly  as  I 
am  almost  as  big  a  figure  in  his  as  in  my  own. 
But  I  can  not.  There  are  times  when  the 
ordinary  standards  are  worth  no  more  than  the 
words  in  which  they  are  framed.  They  neither 
define  justice  nor  afford  consolation.  And 
now  I  can  not  be  bound  by  the  mockery  of  trite 
conventions  and  accepted  rules.  I  must  do, 
not  what  people  would  have  me  do,  but  what  I 
want  to  do. 

When  all  is  said  and  done,  do  we  not,  under 
the  hot  urge  of  the  things  that  make  life  worth 
while,  do  always  what  we  want  to  do? 

I  am  utterly  unable  to  make  myself  say  that 
I  am  as  sorry  for  Charlie  as  I  am  for  myself. 
It  does  not  matter  to  me  at  all,  in  the  last 
analysis,  that  his,  like  mine,  is  a  love  tragedy. 
I  am  a  woman — and  what  woman  can  be  so 


2  MBS.  MABDEN'S  OEDEAL 

grieved  by  the  ruin  of  another's  love  life  as  by 
the  desolation  of  her  own?  My  heart  eries 
out  for  comforting,  my  soul  is  so  burdened 
that  I  must  have  help.  That  is  why  Charlie's 
grief  is,  to  me,  like  a  thing  distant  and 
shadowy. 

If  I  can  help  him,  that  is  well  and  good. 
But  the  thing  I  desire — desire  with  a  very 
anguish  of  longing — is  my  own  peace  of  mind. 

That  is  why  I  have  made  today  a  promise 
which,  when  I  consider  it,  frightens  me.  I 
have  agreed  to  bare  my  soul  to  the  scrutiny  of 
another,  and  that  other  is  a  man.  There  is  to 
be  neither  mental  reservation  nor  deception 
nor  half-truth  in  what  I  am  to  say  to  him. 
When  I  have  told  him  of  my  actions,  I  shall 
have  merely  begun  my  confidences  to  him,  for, 
after  the  actions,  will  come  the  description  of 
my  motives.  And,  when  one  tells  the  naked 
truth  about  why  one  does  things,  one  unveils 
those  desires  and  incentives  and  longings 
which  are  the  very  structure  of  one's  soul. 

Would  any  other  woman  have  the  courage 
to  do  this?  My  determination  to  undertake  it 
is  the  result  of  a  long  agony.  Only  agony 
can  drive  one  to  such  exposure  of  one's  real 
self. 

It  seems  to  matter  very  little  that  Doctor 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  3 

Doyle,  the  man  to  whom  I  am  going  in  my 
unspeakable  need,  is  an  old  friend  of  mine, 
was  a  friend  of  my  father  and  mother.  In  a 
way,  this  fact  alone  increases  the  difficulty. 
But  "  D  R  " — I  call  him  D  R  because,  as  a 
little  girl,  I  never  could  understand  the  "  Dr." 
in  front  of  his  name  and  invariably  spelled  it 
out- — is  a  very  wonderful  person  in  the  world 
of  mental  problems  and  psychology,  and  I 
know  that  he,  more  than  anybody  else,  is  able 
to  bring  me  some  measure  of  peace  and  com 
fort.  Indeed,  nobody  else  could. 

"  Tell  me,  D  R,"  I  asked  him  just  a  few 
hours  ago,  "  can  you — do  you  think  you  can 
help  me?  " 

"  I  know  it,"  he  answered. 

And  for  the  moment  I  almost  believed  him. 
D  R  is  so  persuasive.  He  is  tall,  with  great 
broad  shoulders  and  a  deep  chest — I  don't 
think  any  little  man  ever  seems  exactly  authori 
tative  to  a  woman — and  his  round  head  seems 
huge.  But  his  eyes  are  tender  as  any  woman's, 
a  clear  gray  which,  when  he  is  greatly  moved, 
turns  almost  purple  in  certain  lights,  and  his 
mobile  lips  curve  in  a  smile  that  makes  you 
forget  altogether  the  grimness  of  his  rather 
heavy  jaw.  Even  without  these,  he  would  be 
consoling  and  winning,  for  his  voice,  although 


4  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

it  is  a  deep  bass,  has  the  sonorous  sound  of  the 
notes  of  a  cathedral  organ.  Finally,  he  is 
forty-eight  years  old,  and  I  am  only  twenty- 
five.  If  he  were  my  own  age,  I  know  I  could 
not  talk  to  him  as  I  shall  have  to  do. 

"  First,"  he  explained  to  me,  down  in  the 
library  just  now,  "  you  will  tell  me  all  the 
things  that  have  been  worrying  you.  After 
that,  we  will  try  to  see  what  other  things, 
things  you  don't  recall  at  once,  have  worried 
you.  Then,  we  shall  see  how  you  can  re 
arrange  your  way  of  living,  how  we  can  make 
it  a  better  way  of  living." 

"  A  better  way  of  living?  "  I  asked,  puzzled. 

'  Why,  yes,"  he  said  gently.  "  You  see, 
you  haven't  been  living  as  you  should  have. 
As  a  result  of  what  you  have  thought  and  said 
and  done,  here  you  are  confronted  by  a  double 
tragedy — or  what  seems  a  double  tragedy." 

"  Surely,"  I  said,  "  to  have  my  love  for  my 
husband  die  and  to  know  that  my  husband's 
love  is  dead,  and  to  see  what  Charlie  Cor 
coran  has  come  to — surely,  that  is  a  double 
tragedy ! " 

He  did  not  answer  that,  but  looked  at  me 
in  the  queerest,  and  yet  the  most  reassuring, 
way. 

"  Ruth,"  he  told  me,  "  this  will  take  a  lot 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  5 

of  patience  on  your  part,  and  a  lot  of  work 
and  enormous  courage.  Can  you  go  through 
with  it? " 

"  I  must  have  advice  and  consolation,"  I 
said,  "  or  I  shall  go  mad.  Yes,  I  can  do  it." 

*  You  will  have  to  tell  me  all  things,"  he 
elaborated.  '  This  is  to  be  an  analysis  of  your 
soul,  of  the  depths  of  your  soul.  You  will 
have  to  tell  me  what  you  believe  about  re 
ligion,  the  most  intimate  things  about  your 
life  with  your  husband,  the  big  things  and  the 
little  things,  sex  things  and  all.  You  may 
keep  nothing  back  from  me.  In  this  way  only 
can  we  analyze  your  soul  and  see  in  what  way 
it  has  gone  wrong — so  that,  in  the  end,  we 
may  put  it  on  the  right  track  and  bring  you 
peace,  happiness.  You  see,  you  suffer,  not 
because  you  are  sick,  but  because  you  are 
unhappy." 

I  was  anxious  to  convince  him  that  I  would 
stop  at  nothing  he  asked  of  me. 

Then,  he  told  me  that  we  would  start  to 
work  tomorrow,  that  the  first  thing  he  wanted 
me  to  do  was  to  tell  him  the  story  of  every 
thing  leading  up  to  last  night,  and  that  we 
would  discuss  it  afterwards.  I  can  see  that 
he  thinks  George  and  I  really  love  each  other. 
But  he  will  realize  his  mistake  after  he  has 


6  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

heard  my  story.  My  husband  and  I  are  lost 
to  each  other  forever. 

If  that  were  not  true,  I  would  not  be  miser 
able  now — more  than  miserable,  for,  in  addi 
tion  to  my  grief,  I  feel  that  I  am  going  insane. 
I  can  not  think  properly.  The  most  awful 
ideas  come  into  my  mind.  I  can  no  longer 
control  my  thoughts.  Night  and  day  it  is  as 
if  I  were  being  ridden  by  devils.  Real  love 
between  a  man  and  a  woman  can  not  cause 
that.  It  is  because  my  love  is  a  terrible 
tragedy  that  I  feel  as  I  do. 

D  R  told  me  I  might  spend  all  this 
afternoon  and  this  evening  writing  out  a 
description  of  the  details  of  what  happened 
last  evening.  He  said  it  would  freshen  my 
memory  and  would  enable  me  to  tell  him  the 
story  more  clearly.  That  is  what  I  shall  do — 
write  it  all  out,  up  to  the  time  my  mind  became 
a  blank.  He  has  already  told  me  what  hap 
pened  after  that,  what  occurred  between  then 
and  this  morning,  when  I  awoke  and  found 
him  bending  over  me  in  the  library. 

It  is  an  awful  sensation,  this  knowledge 
that  for  ten  or  eleven  hours  I  was  saying 
things  and  doing  things  without  knowing  that 
I  even  was  alive.  It  is  such  a  terror  to  me 
that,  if  I  did  not  have  this  writing  to  occupy 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  7 

me,  I  should  go  raving  mad.  Perhaps,  that 
is  why  he  told  me  I  might  make  this  diary. 

At  any  rate,  I  go  back  now  to  the  beginning 
of  my  tragedy  and  Charlie  Corcoran's.  I 
shall  set  down  everything  that  began  three 
days  ago  and  resulted  in  the  awful  thing  of 
last  night — in  my  own  house. 

It  is  strange  that  I  have  spoken  of  my 
tragedy  and  Charlie's  and  not  of  Marjorie 
Nesbit's.  This  may  be  the  result  of  what  she 
has  made  me  suffer.  How  she  has  made  me 
suffer,  I  can  not  describe — the  days  of  weeping, 
the  nights  thronged  by  nameless  terrors.  Peo 
ple  \vould  call  me  nervous.  That  is  what  they 
say  of  all  women  whose  hearts  are  broken, 
whose  lives  have  come  to  be  nothing  but  a 
wringing  of  hands  and  a  shedding  of  tears. 
"  Nerves! "  —and  they  shrug  and  pass  on! 
But  I  know  the  truth.  I  have  borne  more 
than  any  woman  can  bear,  and  the  result  is 
that  my  reason  is  tottering,  or  practically 
destroyed. 

I  am,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  a  mad 
woman.  And  my  one  hope  is  D  R. 

I  say  he  is  my  "  hope."  And  yet,  he  is  not 
even  that  to  me.  I  do  not  hope.  Rather,  I 
sit  here  and  say  to  myself  that  there  is  no  hope, 
and  I  ask  myself,  how  can  D  R  expect  to  give 


8  MES.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL 

me  back  my  happiness,  my  beautiful  happi 
ness?  Without  hoping,  I  am  letting  him  try 
his  best,  and,  in  the  meantime,  I  am  convinced 
that  nothing,  nobody,  can  ever  unravel  the 
tangle  of  my  life  or  ever  give  me  again  the 
sweet,  clean  thoughts  that  once  were  mine. 


CHAPTER  II 

EORGE  HARDEN  is  my  husband,  and 
for  the  last  year  the  one  consuming  de 
sire  of  my  soul  has  been  to  love  him — but  I 
can  not.  Three  days  ago,  when  I  went  down 
to  breakfast,  that  thought  was  in  my  mind: 
that  I  wanted  to  love  him,  and  could  not. 

He  had  reached  the  dining  room  ahead  of 
me  and  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  open 
fire,  waiting  for  me.  I  did  not  offer  to  let  him 
kiss  me.  I  knew  he  expected  it,  but  I  could 
not  force  myself  to  endure  the  farce  of  it. 
When  I  went  to  my  chair  at  the  table,  he  made 
no  comment,  but  took  his  own  place,  a  light 
little  ironic  smile  on  his  face.  I  noticed  how 
good-looking  he  was  with  the  rays  of  the  morn 
ing  sun  on  his  forehead  and  dark  brown  hair, 

I  began  to  pour  the  coffee. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  he  asked. 

That  question  made  me  angry.  I  could  not 
answer  it  with  the  cool  statement  that  the  love 
between  us  was  over.  He  would  have  laughed 
and  refused  to  discuss  it.  Besides,  he  would 
not  have  understood. 


10  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  There's  nothing  the  matter,  George,"  I 
said  evenly. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  retorted,  in  the  tone  he 
would  have  used  to  complain  that  the  coffee 
was  cold. 

"Sorry?" 

*  Yes.  If  there  were  something  the  matter, 
we  might  be  able  to — to  make  things  go 
better." 

I  did  not  reply  to  that. 

After  a  pause,  he  inquired,  "  Seen  Marjorie 
lately?" 

My  heart  bounded  at  that  question.  She 
was  the  woman  about  whom  the  misun 
derstanding  between  us  centered.  I  was 
amazed  that  he  volunteered  any  reference  to 
her. 

"  No,"  I  said,  buttering  a  muffin  with 
elaborate  care. 

"  I  saw  her  last  night,"  he  went  on. 

I  made  no  comment  on  that. 

"  She  told  me,"  he  said,  and  I  knew  he  was 
looking  directly  at  me,  "  she  hadn't  received 
her  invitation  to  your  dance." 

I  met  his  gaze  squarely. 

"  Hasn't  she?  "  I  returned  coolly. 

'  I  told  her,"  he  continued,  "  that  it  must 
have  been  lost  in  the  mails." 


MRS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  11 

Of  course,  he  knew  no  such  thing  had  hap 
pened.  He  knew  I  had  deliberately  left  her 
off  the  list.  Nevertheless,  I  said: 

"  It  must  have.  I'll  send  her  another  by 
messenger  this  morning — with  a  note  of 
explanation." 

I  said  that  because,  all  of  a  sudden,  I  made 
up  my  mind  that  my  pride  was  superior  to  my 
distaste  for  Marjorie.  I  would  not  let  my 
husband  see  that  I  disliked  the  girl  because  of 
him.  And  yet,  this  was  ridiculous  because  he 
knew  exactly  how  I  felt  toward  her. 

He  looked  at  me  with  his  broad  smile. 

;'  Why  don't  you  go  to  see  her? "  he  sug 
gested. 

That  was  to  hurt  me ! 

"  I  shall,"  I  said  calmly. 

He  stared  for  the  fraction  of  a  second. 

"  Good  for  you!  "  he  said,  as  he  would  have 
congratulated  a  friend  for  putting  a  horse  over 
a  stiff  jump. 

He  was  convinced,  apparently,  that  he  had 
never  been  in  fault  so  far  as  Marjorie  was 
concerned.  That  is  his  way  all  the  time.  He 
does  things  with  a  laugh  and  an  air  of  aban 
don.  Nothing  is  wrong  because  there  is 
nothing  wrong  in  his  motives!  He  goes 
through  life  on  the  assumption  that  "  every- 


12  MES.  MAEDBN'S  OEDEAL 

thing  is  all  right,"  and,  if  it  isn't,  it  will  be 
soon! 

Everybody  likes  him.  People  say  to  me 
every  day,  "  Mrs.  Harden,  what  a  charming 
husband  you  have!"  His  popularity  is  re 
stricted  to  no  particular  class,  and  men  as  well 
as  women  like  him.  He  is  a  man  who  uses 
up  away  from  home  so  much  of  his  likable 
qualities,  so  much  of  his  pleasantness,  so  much 
of  his  affection,  that  he  seems  to  have  remain 
ing  very  little  demonstrativeness  for  his  wife. 
At  home  he  drifts  along,  giving  little,  accept 
ing  everything. 

I  do  not  think  I  am  doing  him  an  injustice. 
I  was  desperately  in  love  with  him  when  I 
married  him  over  four  years  ago.  He  was  an 
ideal  lover.  Do  ideal  lovers,  I  wonder,  ever 
become  dependable  husbands?  Does  the  verve, 
the  dash,  the  exquisite  spirit,  which  makes  the 
man  a  fascinating  wooer,  compel  him  after 
marriage  to  seek  much  of  his  happiness  abroad? 
Trying  to  solve  my  pitiful  problem,  I  have 
wondered  about  this  until  my  head  swam. 

His  attitude  toward  Marjorie  at  breakfast 
that  morning  was  typical  of  his  daily  behavior 
with  me.  He  knew  the  town  had  been  gossip 
ing  about  him  and  her.  He  knew  I  was  aware 
of  her  efforts  to  attract  him  to  her  side,  to 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  13 

flatter  her  vanity  if  for  nothing  else.  Above 
all,  he  could  not  have  forgotten  my  grief  and 
humiliation  six  months  before,  when  he  and 
Marjorie  had  spent  an  entire  summer  night  on 
the  roadside  four  miles  out  of  town. 

At  the  time  Marjorie  had  sighed,  with 
laughter  back  of  the  sigh,  "  My  dear,  it  was 
awful — simply  awful!  What  won't  people 
say?  " 

And  George,  regarding  the  affair  as  an  in 
cident  to  be  forgotten,  had  strolled  in  to  break 
fast,  announced  where  he  had  been  and  said: 

"  Don't  look  so  tragic,  Ruth.  What  was 
it,  after  all?  You  didn't  feel  like  going  out  to 
the  Winslows'  dinner  dance,  and  I  did.  I 
offered  to  drive  Marjorie  home  in  my  machine. 
It  was  frightfully  late.  All  of  us  had  had  too 
much  champagne — I  confess  it.  But  you 
know  the  Winslows.  It  was  to  be  expected. 

'  Then,  when  we  were  half-way  home,  some 
thing  went  wrong  with  the  steering  gear.  I 
got  out  and  pottered  with  it  in  the  light  of  my 
electric  torch.  But  I  couldn't  fix  the  thing. 
I  got  tired.  You  know  yourself  what  cham 
pagne  does  to  me — makes  me  sleepy  as  an  owl. 
I  climbed  back  on  the  front  seat  to  rest,  and 
the  first  thing  I  knew  there  we  were  in  the 
cold  gray  dawn  after  having  had  a  nice  little 


14  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

nap,  the  two  of  us.  Then  we  scrambled  out 
of  the  car  and  walked  to  the  trolley  line. 
That's  all  there  is  to  it." 

He  was  honest  in  what  he  said.  He  saw 
nothing  to  worry  about  in  the  whole  affair. 
That  was  the  George  of  it. 

I  do  not  mean  to  create  the  impression  that 
he  and  I  always  disagreed  about  things.  For 
three  years  I  managed  finally  to  see  things  as 
he  did.  But,  after  that,  the  effort  became  too 
great.  I  realized  that  it  was  an  effort,  and, 
when  one  has  to  make  an  effort  all  the  time  in 
order  to  be  in  accord  with  one's  husband,  one 
draws  close  to  disaster. 

For  instance,  a  year  ago  I  saw  George  kiss 
a  woman — Mrs.  Tarone.  I  never  said  any 
thing  to  him  about  that.  If  I  were  to  confront 
him  with  it  now,  he  would  laugh  easily  and 
advise  me  to  quit  making  mountains  out  of 
molehills.  That  is  my  great  difficulty.  Noth 
ing  really  touches  him.  Nothing  seems  to  him 
to  matter  so  very  much.  He  regards  my  dis 
tress  because  of  such  incidents  as  "emotional 
ism."  I  do  not  believe  he  has  ever  made  a 
serious  effort  to  understand  me,  to  find  out 
whether  I  am  a  toy  or  a  woman. 

For  three  years,  then,  I  had  been  like  so 
many  other  wives.  I  had  forced  myself  to 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  15 

believe  what  I  wanted  to  believe.  I  had  told 
myself  that  appearances  had  deceived  me  and 
that,  in  spite  of  everything  to  the  contrary,  my 
husband  really  loved  me.  I  had  done  that 
until  I  saw  that  kiss.  After  that,  I  had  known 
the  truth — and  kept  it  to  myself.  Instead  of 
a  confidence  that  had  been  more  or  less  serene, 
I  was  possessed  by  a  tortured  pride.  So  far 
as  all  matters  touching  the  real  soul  of  me 
were  concerned,  I  led  a  life  apart.  He  could 
not  have  come  close  to  my  inner  self  if  he  had 
tried,  for  his  inner  self  was  so  different. 

After  breakfast,  I  was  as  good  as  my  word. 
I  went  to  see  Marjorie.  On  my  way  to  her 
home,  as  I  walked  up  Sixteenth  Street,  I 
heard  newsboys  crying  extras  about  the  first 
American  casualties  in  France.  The  news  did 
not  touch  me.  I  was  too  appalled  by  the 
knowledge  of  my  own  suffering  to  be  in 
terested  in  the  sufferings  of  others.  I  did  not 
even  buy  a  paper. 

As  I  went,  I  thought  about  Marjorie.  It 
was  not  so  much  that  I  disliked  her.  She  was 
merely  a  pawn  in  George's  careless  life,  I  re 
flected.  If  it  had  not  been  Marjorie,  it  would 
have  been  somebody  else.  The  only  thing  I 
resented — and  I  did  not  resent  that  very 
much — was  the  fact  that  she  played  with 


16  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

George,  although  she  and  I  had  been  friends 
since  girlhood,  had  shared  the  same  room  at 
boarding  school,  and,  although  she  was  a  year 
older  than  I,  had  come  out  together.  Until 
my  mother's  death,  the  two  families  had  lived 
next  door  to  each  other. 

Moreover,  I  was  pleased  with  the  fact  that 
I  was  going  so  easily  to  invite  her  to  my  dance. 
George  had  not  expected  it.  Thank  heaven 
I  had  self-respect  enough  to  disregard  his 
flirtation  with  her ! 

After  all,  Marjorie  would  never  lose  her 
head.  She  was  of  the  calculating  kind.  She 
would  not  precipitate  matters  before  I  could 
arrange  for  my  separation  from  George.  In 
a  sense,  I  felt  grateful  for  that!  Conse 
quently,  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  tolerance, 
rather  than  anger,  toward  her  that  I  entered 
her  house. 

And  I  marveled  at  my  calmness  in  the 
matter! 


CHAPTER  III 

SHE  was  not  downstairs.  As  I  was  about 
to  go  up  to  her  little  den  on  the  second 
floor,  I  heard  voices,  hers  and  a  man's,  in  the 
direction  of  the  basement  kitchen. 

"What's  Miss  Marjorie  doing?"  I  asked 
Maria,  the  maid  who  had  admitted  me. 

'  'Deed,  mum,"  answered  Maria,  "  I'm  not 
certain.  There's  a  poor  man,  looks  like  a 
tramp,  in  the  kitchen." 

Distinctly  surprised,  I  started  to  the  base 
ment.  Marjorie  Nesbit  was  not  a  person  to 
busy  herself  ordinarily  with  tramps.  I  knew 
that.  She  was  a  woman  who  instinctively 
despised  the  unfortunate.  She  had  long  since 
educated  herself  into  the  conviction  that  the 
grand  emotions,  the  things  of  high  import  to 
the  soul  of  a  woman,  must  come  clad  in  the 
habiliments  of  appropriate  splendor,  must  be 
accompanied  by  pomp  and  the  symbols  of 
power.  To  her  nothing  had  ever  appealed  as 
of  particular  interest  unless  its  dramatic 
scheme  had  been  unrolled  amid  inspiring  stage 
settings.  The  clash  of  music,  the  loveliness  of 


18  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

lights  and  the  seductiveness  of  fragrance  and 
flowers  had  always  been  essential  factors  in 
any  event  that  had  exercised  a  weighty,  or 
even  a  light,  influence  upon  her  life. 

Poverty,  crippled  bodies,  misfortune,  tears — 
these  were  ugly  phases  of  existence  which  she 
had  studiously  avoided.  She  had  never  been 
able  to  see  that  they  benefited  anybody.  They 
belonged  among  the  shadows,  not  in  the  bright 
sunlight  of  life,  and,  when  they  had  come  too 
near  her,  she  had  averted  her  eyes  and  closed 
her  ears.  During  all  her  twenty-six  years— 
for  her  childhood  had  been  a  sure  precursor  of 
her  womanhood — she  had  despised  inadequate 
circumstances,  insufficient  people. 

No  wonder  that  what  I  saw  held  me  breath 
less  in  the  doorway.  Marjorie  stood  and 
faced,  across  the  kitchen  table,  a  man  who 
spoke  to  her  in  a  voice  of  peculiar  resonance. 
He  was  miserably  dressed,  his  tattered  clothes 
hanging  upon  him  like  bags.  His  black  hair 
looked  matted,  and  upon  his  face  was  a 
three  days'  growth  of  heavy  beard.  His 
features  were  drawn,  almost  haggard.  At 
first  glance,  he  showed  the  signs  of  intense  suf 
fering,  a  suffering  that  must  have  been  more 
mental  than  physical ;  and  yet  his  manner  was 
strangely  imperious.  I  can  not  explain  it, 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  19 

but  there  was  about  him  the  atmosphere  of 
compelling  force. 

Marjorie,  however,  caught  my  attention 
more  than  he.  There  was  upon  her  face  a  look 
such  as  I  had  never  thought  her  capable  of  dis 
playing,  a  look  of  complete  absorption.  But 
there  was  more  than  that  in  it.  While  they 
stood  there,  oblivious  to  everything  but  each 
other,  I  instinctively  tried  to  define  her  ex 
pression.  Then  I  saw!  It  was  such  a  look 
as  a  woman  should  give  to  but  one  man. 
I  was  thunderstruck  by  it,  by  the  intimate 
quality  of  it,  the  lack  of  anything  like  reserve 
or  caution.  It  was  a  physical  thing,  some 
thing  that  looked  out  at  him  and  reached  to 
ward  him.  It  had  in  it  perfect  understanding 
and  unspeakable  desire. 

And  he,  with  his  black,  unnaturally  brilliant 
eyes,  entertained  her  glance  appreciatively, 
without  surprise.  It  was  as  if  he  had  expected 
it  and  knew  that  she  would  give  it  to  him.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  here  were  two  persons  who 
had  known  each  other  throughout  their  lives, 
two  persons  who  had  met  upon  a  common 
ground  and  had  joined  hands,  saying,  "  Let  us 
go  together — we  know ! — we  are  companions." 

'  Why  ask  me  what  I  am  going  to  do?  "  he 
was  saying.  "  How  can  I  tell?  How  can 


20  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

you  tell  what  you  will  do  this  afternoon  or 
tomorrow  or  next  year?  You  can  not.  I  can 
not.  People  say  they  will  do  this  or  that. 
The  idiots !  They  will  do  what  they  are  made 
to  do,  made  by  their  past.  All  my  past  is  on 
my  back.  It  is  a  tremendous  weight,  like  an 
avalanche,  that  continually  thrusts  me  onward 
and  downward  to — what?  Every  thought  I 
have  had,  every  act  I  have  committed,  every 
word  I  have  spoken,  they  all  have  been  added 
to  this  thing  which,  like  a  slowly  moving  and 
irresistible  mass,  pushes  me  hither  and  thither. 
'  You  understand,  I'm  sure.  The  fraud  I 
may  have  committed  ten  years  ago — would  it 
not  urge  me  on  to  other  frauds?  The  pain  in 
the  eyes  of  the  bird  whose  nest  I  wantonly 
robbed  when  I  was  a  boy — did  it  not  predict 
further  cruelty  on  my  part?  The  tears  of  a 
woman  I  wronged  fifteen  years  ago — do  they 
not  make  it  easier  for  me  to  mistreat  some 
other  woman  now?  We  say  we  are  free. 
Bah!  When  one  has  done  many  things  and 
thought  many  things,  one  is  no  longer  free. 
One  will  go  on  doing  and  thinking  things  of 
the  same  kind." 

He  reached  down  to  the  floor  and  picked  up 
a  battered  derby  hat.  Still,  Marjorie's  eyes 
followed  him — hungrily. 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  21 

'  You  understand,  I  know,"  he  said  in  his 
resonant,  low  voice.  '  You  are  one  who  would 
understand.  There  are  in  you  the  great  fires 
of  life.  You  are  afraid  of  them,  but  some  day 
you  will  yield  to  their  charm,  will  let  them 
carry  you  away.  And  you  will  not  be  able  to 
help  it.  You  have  felt  the  lure  of  their  beauty 
too  long." 

For  a  brief  moment  their  glances  held,  inter 
locked  as  if  by  physical  means,  his  burning  and 
assured,  hers  warm  and  eager.  After  that,  a 
slow  sigh  came  through  her  half-parted  lips, 
and  her  bosom  rose  and  fell  once  as  if  a  mighty 
storm  threatened  her. 

Then  she  caught  sight  of  me.  At  first,  she 
did  not  speak.  When  she  called  my  name,  I 
got  somehow  the  impression  that  she  came  back 
to  reality,  as  if  her  spirit  had  been  far  away 
for  a  while. 

"  He  has  been  telling  me,"  she  said,  without 
any  trace  of  embarrassment,  "  why  he  will 
always  be  a  tramp." 

He  still  had  his  eyes  upon  her,  drinking  up 
the  heady  wine  of  her  beauty.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  he  took  in  and  appraised  every  part  of 
her  loveliness — the  masses  of  her  red-bronze 
hair  piled  high  upon  her  head,  the  fire  of  her 
tawny  eyes,  the  richness  of  her  full,  red  mouth, 


22  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

and  the  ample,  almost  matronly,  lines  of  her 
throat  and  neck.  I  had  always  thought  of  her 
as  statuesque,  but  there  was  none  of  that  qual 
ity  in  her  then — rather,  a  soft  voluptuous 
ness. 

The  man  did  not  even  glance  at  me  as  he 
moved  slowly  toward  the  door. 

He  bowed  to  Marjorie,  and,  although  I  saw 
how  gaunt  and  spare  he  was,  I  was  struck  by 
the  native  grace  in  his  movement. 

'  You  have  been  very  kind,"  he  said  simply, 
indicating  with  a  casual  gesture  of  his  right 
hand  the  remains  of  the  food  on  the  kitchen 
table. 

Marjorie,  in  her  turn  oblivious  of  me,  fol 
lowed  him  to  the  door,  and  spoke. 

'  Tomorrow  "  and  "  come  "  were  the  only 
two  words  I  heard  her  utter,  but  I  knew  that 
she  asked  him,  a  note  of  command  in  her  voice, 
to  return  the  following  morning.  And  he, 
still  assured  and  confident,  bowed  again  and 
smiled.  Somehow,  the  smile  made  me  shudder 
a  little. 

Marjorie  turned  to  me  in  the  most  natural 
way  in  the  world. 

"  Let's  go  upstairs,"  she  said  in  her  fresh, 
musical  voice,  and  followed  me  out  of  the 
kitchen. 


MES.  MARDEN'S  OEDEAL  23 

As  we  sat  down  in  the  parlor,  I  asked  her, 
"  Where's  your  mother?  " 

I  think  the  question  came  from  my  very  dis 
tinct  feeling  that  Marjorie  needed  protection, 
that  she  was  in  imminent  danger. 

"  Downtown,"  she  answered,  and  sat  for  a 
moment  looking  thoughtfully  out  the  window. 
"  That  man,  that  tramp,"  she  said,  "  is  the  most 
interesting  man  I  ever  encountered." 

"  He  seems  so,"  I  agreed  in  a  colorless  tone. 

"  He  knows  life." 

"  Does  he? " 

After  that,  she  left  the  subject,  and  I  in 
vited  her  to  my  dance,  telling  quite  an  elaborate 
and  plausible  little  lie  to  explain  why  she  had 
not  received  the  invitation  by  mail.  She  said 
she  would  come. 

Going  down  Sixteenth  Street,  I  walked  like 
one  bewildered.  I  was  not  surprised  that 
Marjorie  talked  familiarly  to  the  tramp  if  she 
wished.  She  always  did  what  she  felt  like 
doing.  With  her,  I  reflected,  it  was  merely  a 
yielding  to  her  own  desires,  never  a  considera 
tion  of  other  people  or  what  other  people 
might  say.  But  the  thing  that  astounded  me 
was  what  I  had  seen  in  her  face.  Why,  it  had 
been  indecent,  something  I  thought  foreign  to 
her  thoughts  and  feelings,  awful! 


24  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

I  remembered  her  having  repeated  to  me 
once  what  one  of  her  rejected  suitors  had  said 
to  her: 

'  You  tell  me,  and  you  have  told  others, 
you  can't  love.  That  isn't  true.  The  trouble 
about  you  is  that  you're  afraid  to  love.  You're 
afraid  of  yourself,  afraid  to  let  yourself  go." 

Had  that  man  been  right  in  his  estimate  of 
her? 

Ever  since  her  debut,  her  life  had  been  a 
continuous  performance  of  attracting  men, 
the  most  eligible  men  in  the  city,  and  then  dis 
missing  them.  She  always  had  had  plenty  of 
admirers  in  her  train,  for  her  beauty  had  been 
fortified  by  her  wit  and  by  that  commanding 
air  of  aloofness  which  is  so  often  such  an  effect 
ive  spur  to  the  ardor  of  men.  But  nobody 
had  ever  credited  her  with  warmth  of  feeling, 
with  "  intenseness."  She  had  always  done  ex 
actly  as  she  pleased,  but  her  preferences  had 
never  led  her  into  conflict  with  convention 
ality. 

But  on  this  morning,  just  a  few  minutes  ago, 
I  had  seen  an  entirely  new  Marjorie.  It  was 
as  if  a  foreign  spirit  had  rushed  into  the  body 
of  Marjorie  and  taken  violent  possession  of 
her,  molding  her  figure  to  lines  that  had  in 
them  a  certain  sinuous  softness,  fashioning  her 


MRS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  26 

lips  to  a  telltale  and  fuller  design,  lighting  her 
eyes  with  an  evil  torch. 

What  manner  of  woman  was  she?  I  asked 
myself.  Had  her  life  been  one  long  wary 
battle  to  conceal  from  everybody  her  real  self? 
Had  her  strongest  emotions  been  held  in  leash 
because  she  was  ashamed  of  them,  or  afraid  of 
them?  Was  her  soul  a  painted  soul,  a  fugitive 
creature  imprisoned  behind  the  bars  of  her 
silent  lips  and  baffling  eyes? 

I  could  not  help  asking  myself  those  ques 
tions.  Had  I  not  seen  that  look  on  her  face? 
Had  I  not  been  convinced  that  she  was  like  a 
person  who  plays  with  danger  gladly?  I  had 
even  been  reminded,  involuntarily,  of  the 
beauty  of  those  flowers  which  thrive  best  in 
dank,  filthy  soil.  Had  those  imprisoned  fires 
of  hers  helped  to  mold  her  in  such  unusual  and 
striking  beauty? 

Then,  I  thought  of  George,  and — stopped 
thinking  of  him.  No  matter  what  had  hap 
pened,  I  would  not  admit  that  my  husband 
had  ever  seen  in  her  the  strange  woman  whom 
I  had  surprised  there  in  the  kitchen. 

Suddenly  I  was  aware  that  somebody  was 
calling  to  me.  I  looked  around,  and  there 
at  the  curb,  in  his  big  gray  roadster,  was 
Charlie  Corcoran.  He  sprang  from  the  car 


26  MBS.  MAEDEN'S  OKDEAL 

and  came  toward  me.  It  struck  me  that  he 
seemed  unusually  elated.  His  step  had  a  new 
buoyancy.  And  this  was  saying  a  great  deal, 
for  Charlie  was  always  in  good  spirits. 

As  he  stood  before  me,  tall  and  almost  too 
slender,  the  slight  stoop  in  his  shoulders  empha 
sizing  his  graceful  carriage  of  himself,  the 
midday  sun  shining  full  on  his  handsome  face 
and  fair  hair,  I  could  not  help  envying  him  a 
little — he  seemed  so  altogether  blessed,  so 
utterly  a  stranger  to  the  ugly  and  distressing 
things  of  life. 

"  Come  with  me! "  he  commanded  in  mock 
authority,  and  led  me  to  the  machine. 

Charlie  has  a  quick,  dashing  air.  His  whole 
soul  goes  into  anything  he  does — anything 
from  a  ride  in  an  automobile  to  a  love  affair. 
I  like  him,  always  have  liked  him,  very  much. 
We  have  been  chums  for  years. 

I  made  him  drive  me  home,  and  he  followed 
me  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  IV 

I  LED  him  into  the  library — the  library  is 
the  "  homiest  "  room  in  the  house — and  he 
started  in  on  one  of  his  joyous  tirades. 
Charlie's  talking  is  always  more  or  less  of  a 
cascade  of  words,  even  though  somebody  has 
said  that  his  thin,  expressive  face  is  half  of 
his  vocabulary. 

"  Ruth,"  he  began,  flinging  himself  on  the 
big  leather  couch  in  front  of  me,  "  I've  come  to 
praise  you  and  to  worship  you.  Please  realize 
that  at  this  moment  I  am  burning  incense  in 
your  temple.  A  string  of  choir  boys  a  mile 
long  is  singing  a  triumphant  anthem  composed 
by  myself  in  your  honor,  and  the  high  priest  of 
gratitude  is  exhorting  a  million  devotees  to 
live  up  to  your  example — which  is  mercy  and 
loving  kindness." 

Somehow,  his  exuberance  of  spirits  did  not 
call  forth  any  response  from  me.  I  was  afraid 
he  would  see  how  weary  I  felt.  I  forced 
myself  to  ask  him,  "  What  is  it  all  about, 
Charlie? " 

"  Ethel  Gilmore,"  he  replied.     "  I  prostrate 


28  MBS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

myself  before  you,  I  lift  my  voice  in  thanks 
giving,  because  you  prevented  me  from  marry 
ing  her." 

"  Oh,  she? "     My  voice  was  contemptuous. 

"  It  delights  me  to  report,"  he  swept  on, 
with  a  sigh  of  mock  relief,  "  that  I  saw  her  in 
a  cafe  last  night  and  came  away  unscathed. 
When  my  eyes  rested  upon  her,  my  blood  pres 
sure  was  not  increased,  and  my  heart  failed  to 
beat  a  fraction  of  a  second  faster.  Not  a  tear 
moistened  my  smoothly  shaven  cheeks.  Ruth, 
I'm  cured! " 

"  How  on  earth  you  ever  imagined  yourself 
in  love  with  her,  I  can't  understand,"  I  said 
impatiently.  "  A  woman  divorced  by  her  hus 
band,  a  woman  talked  about  by  the  whole  of 
Washington,  a  woman  who  was  not  received  by 
most  of  us — oh,  Charlie,  why  did  you?  " 

"  That's  just  the  point.  I  didn't.  But,  if 
you  hadn't  brought  me  to  my  senses,  this  same 
fair  Ethel  would  now  be  Mrs.  Corcoran. 
That's  why  the  choir  boys  sing  in  your  temple 
and  the  incense  goes  up  in  suffocating  clouds." 

He  slapped  his  knee  with  his  right  hand  and 
laughed.  '  Ye  gods !  Do  you  remember  how 
my  heart  bled  when  you  explained  to  me  the 
folly  of  my  loving  her?  I,  a  man  twenty-nine 
years  old,  with  a  heart  that  bled !  " 


MES.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL  29 

"  But  why  all  this  jubilation  now,  after  so 
long  a  time? " 

I  was  wishing  he  would  leave. 

"  A  new  divinity !  "  he  explained.  "  Hon 
estly,  Ruth,  this  time  it  is  for  life." 

I  was  genuinely  surprised,  particularly  when 
I  saw  how  serious  his  eyes  were. 

"  Who  is  she?  " 

"  Marjorie  Nesbit,"  he  said,  much  as  he 
might  have  pronounced  the  name  of  Christ — it 
was  so  reverent. 

Instinctively,  I  turned  my  face  from  him. 
For  one  bewildered  moment  two  things  were 
battling  grotesquely  in  my  consciousness,  the 
reverence  in  his  voice  and  my  memory  of  what 
I  had  seen  in  Marjorie's  face  that  morning.  I 
wanted  to  scream  aloud,  to  shake  him,  to  tell 
him  what  a  fool  he  was. 

What  I  did  do  was  to  turn  toward  him  and 
say,  "  I  didn't  know  that  was  serious." 

He  was  so  taken  up  with  his  own  thoughts 
that  he  did  not  notice  the  coldness  in  my  voice. 

"  It's  a  secret  so  far,"  he  confided  with  a 
solemnity  that  actually  hurt  me,  "  but  I  can 
tell  you.  She  promised  last  night  to  marry 
me." 

"  She's  accepted  you!  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  he  said,  a  little  taken  aback  by 


30  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

my  astonished  manner,  and  added,  "  Yes,  she 
has." 

I  felt  my  lower  lip  quiver,  and  I  knew  there 
were  tears  in  my  eyes,  but  I  couldn't  help  it. 

"  Oh!  "  I  said  tremulously.  "  Oh,  Charlie, 
I  hope  you'll  be  wonderfully — wonderfully 
happy." 

He  looked  at  me  searchingly. 

"I  don't  understand,"  he  puzzled.  "  What 
do  you  mean,  Ruth?  Don't  you  like  her?  " 

His  voice  was  something  new,  more  aloof 
and  formal  than  it  had  ever  been  in  talking 
to  me. 

I  burst  into  tears. 

"  Forgive  me,  Charlie,"  I  said  between  my 
ridiculous  sobs.  "  I  know  you'll  be  happy, 
and — and  I'm  a  disagreeable  person.  I  sup 
pose  I'm  so — so  fond  of  the  men  I  do  like  that, 
even  in  my  friendship  and  in  my  desire  to  see 
them  happy,  I — hate  to  see  them  swept  away 
from  me  by — by  marriage." 

"  I  see,"  he  agreed,  but  he  did  not  see  at  all. 

He  got  to  his  feet  while  I  dabbed  away  the 
tears. 

'  You're  so  fine,"  I  said,  "  I  know  you'll  be 
happy,  and  you'll  make  her  happy.  I  know 
it.  I  know  it!" 

He  took  my  hand. 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  31 

"  That's  good  of  you,  Ruth,"  he  said  with  a 
return  to  some  of  his  old  enthusiasm,  but  I 
could  tell  that  he  was  worried,  unable  to  under 
stand  my  behavior. 

"  I  guess  I'm  due  at  the  club,"  he  added,  and 
started  toward  the  door. 

There  he  hesitated  and  finally  came  back  to 
where  I  sat.  All  at  once  I  was  aware  of  his 
embarrassment.  He  wanted  to  say  some 
thing  and  did  not  know  how  to  frame  it  in 
words.  I  waited  for  him  to  speak. 

"  Ruth,  what's  up?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  What's  troubling  you?  " 

"  Nothing,"  I  told  him  without  looking  up 
at  him. 

"  Nothing?  "  he  insisted. 

"  Not  a  thing  on  earth." 

"  But  you  aren't  well — I  mean  happy,  are 
you? " 

"  Yes— quite." 

"  I  didn't  think  so."  He  clung  to  his  wish 
to  help  me  and  blurted  out  the  words.  '  You 
see,  Ruth,  there  are  just  two  kinds  of  married 
women,  after  all:  those  who  love  their  hus 
bands  and  don't  care  anything  about  the 
society  of  other  men,  and  those  who  don't  love 
their  husbands  and  make  up  for  it  by  the  ex- 


32  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

citement  of  having  a  good  many  men  as  their 
friends." 

I  looked  up  at  him  and  made  my  eyes  very 
wide  with  surprise. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Charlie?  " 

"Oh,  hang  it  all!"  he  said  desperately. 
'  Why  won't  you  let  me  help  you?  You  know 
what  I  mean.  You  are  so  kind  to  Dick  Jer- 
dyce  and  Tom  Fordney  and  me  that  I  thought 
you  were  trying  to  make  friendship  for  us  take 
the  place  of  the  greater  happiness  at  home. 
That's  what  I  mean." 

The  solemnity  of  his  tone,  the  real  sorrow 
in  his  voice,  amazed  me.  I  had  never  seen 
Charlie  in  such  a  mood.  To  me  he  had  always 
seemed  the  spirit  of  levity,  ignoring  anything 
deep  or  important  in  life.  That  was  why  I 
liked  him. 

I  made  no  comment  on  what  he  had  said. 

"  I  thought  there  might  be  something  about 
George  that  worried  you,"  he  forced  himself 
to  finish.  "  And  I  know  I  could  help. 
George  is  so  thoroughly  all  right,  don't  you 
know." 

I  looked  up  at  him  through  misty  eyes. 

"  Thanks,  Charlie,"  I  said,  "  but  you're  mis 
taken.  I'm  thoroughly  happy." 

He  looked  relieved. 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  33 

"  When  I'm  so  happy  myself,  so  lucky,"  he 
explained  clumsily,  "  I  hate  to  think  of  any 
body  else,  especially  you,  as  being  miserable. 
You — you'll  forgive  my  butting  in,  won't 
you? " 

When  he  had  gone,  I  shed  bitter  tears. 

But  I  was  not  weeping  for  Charlie,  either 
when  I  thought  of  his  high  spirits  because  of 
his  love  or  when  there  flashed  into  my  mind 
again  the  picture  of  that  strange,  repugnant 
Marjorie  I  had  seen  facing  and  desiring — yes, 
desiring — the  "  gentleman  tramp."  That 
light  had  been  in  her  eyes  a  bare  twelve  hours 
after  she  had  promised  to  become  Charlie's 
wife.  And  he  worshipped  her! 

The  idea  was  terrible.  I  realized  that  in  a 
sort  of  cold,  academic  way.  But  the  thing 
that  really  hurt  me  was  that  George  should 
ever  have  liked  a  woman  who  could  deceive  as 
basely  as  Marjorie  had  done.  I  was  borne 
down,  overwhelmed,  by  the  weight  of  my  own 
mortification  and  distress. 


CHAPTER  V 

WHILE  the  tears  still  stood  in  my  eyes, 
Jeffries  announced  Doctor  Doyle. 

"  Show  him  in  here,"  I  directed. 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  did  not  want 
to  see  DR.  I  was  in  one  of  my  "  shut-in  " 
moods.  I  did  not  want  to  see  anybody  on 
earth.  What  was  the  use?  I  asked  myself 
desperately. 

And  yet,  I  ought  to  have  been  greatly 
pleased  by  his  call  in  the  middle  of  the  day. 
D  R  is  always  so  busy.  People  come  to  him 
from  all  parts  of  the  country  for  the  relief 
nobody  else  has  been  able  to  give  them — men 
who  are  no  longer  able  to  work ;  women  whose 
nights  have  become  stalking  places  for  horrors 
while  their  days  are  monotonous  records  of 
pain;  people  who  have  found  no  respite  in 
bromides  or  morphine;  poor,  worthless  wrecks 
of  once  happy  beings  who  have  lost  their  happi 
ness  forever.  He  is  my  ideal  of  the  Great 
Physician,  the  Great  Healer. 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  36 

And  he  is  famous — famous  in  Europe  as  he 
is  here.  D  R  is  so  much  of  an  all-round  man. 
His  eminence  is  not  confined  to  his  profession. 
As  an  after-dinner  speaker,  he  is  forever  in 
demand.  His  love  and  knowledge  of  music 
are  proverbial,  and  he  knows  all  there  is  to 
know,  I  think,  about  art  and  literature,  history 
and  mythology,  science  and  current  events. 
He  is,  indeed,  a  great,  a  very  great  man. 

Any  other  woman  would  have  been  flattered 
by  a  visit  from  one  so  famous.  What  woman 
does  not  like  the  companionship  of  the  famous  ? 
And  there  was  I,  feeling  nothing  but  resent 
ment  and  irritation  because  he  had  closed  his 
office  earlier  than  his  custom  and  sought  me 
out! 

A  Japanese  bowl  full  of  cigarettes  stood  on 
the  table  at  my  elbow.  I  took  one  and  lit  it 
with  the  alcohol  lighter.  When  D  R  came  in, 
there  was  a  little  cloud  of  smoke  between  him 
and  me.  When  I  spoke  to  him,  I  had  upon 
me  the  mantle  of  forced  vivacity.  I  did  not 
propose  to  let  him  see  that  I  was  unhappy,  or 
even  worried. 

"  Didn't  expect  me  this  time  of  day,  did 
you? "  he  asked,  with  his  slow,  youthful  smile. 

"  No,"  I  answered;  "  such  a  busy,  important 
man  as  you,  D  R." 


36  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

He  took  one  of  the  cigarettes  and  slowly  lit 
it  without  answering  me.  Then  he  sat  down 
on  the  big  couch  where  Charlie  had  been. 
Something  in  his  wonderful  eyes  brought  a 
little  catch  up  in  my  throat. 

"  Ruth,"  he  said,  his  voice  a  little  low, 
"  won't  you  let  me  help  you?  " 

"  Do  you  think  I  need  it? "  I  returned,  in 
voluntarily  and  immediately  defiant. 

I  had  put  another  haze  of  smoke  between 
us.  I  wished  that  he  had  not  come. 

*  Why,"  I  asked,  my  words  coming  fast, 
"  should  I  need  the  help  of  a  man  who  treats 
crazy  people  and  analyzes  criminals  for  the 
chief  of  police?  Do  you  think  I  do?  " 

"  I  know  that  you  are  greatly  troubled,"  he 
said,  very  tenderly. 

"Not  troubled — annoyed — disgusted!"  I 
burst  forth,  emphasizing  the  last  two  adjec 
tives  with  wide  sweeps  of  my  hands. 

Leaning  back  on  the  couch,  he  did  not  an 
swer  me  immediately.  In  some  way,  he  made 
the  silence  a  definition  of  his  sympathy. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  much — a  man,"  I  returned 
flippantly. 

"  But  it  is  much,"  he  said  earnestly.  "  It's 
a  great  deal.  It  is  so  much  that  you  are  not 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  37 

yourself  at  all.  I  have  watched  you  for 
months." 

I  made  a  gesture  of  impatience.  I  realized 
that  my  feelings  were  running  away  with  me. 

"  It  was  because  of  my  love  for  you,"  he 
reminded  me.  '  You  say  the  unkindest  things 
in  the  most  cruel  manner.  You  form  antipa 
thies  and  take  dislikes  for  no  reason  on  earth. 
You  alternate  between  a  gloom  which  has  no 
real  foundation  and  a  continual  chase  after  a 
happiness  which  you  never  find." 

While  he  walked  to  the  table  and  lit  another 
cigarette,  I  said  nothing,  but  I  know  my  lip 
was  curled  to  contempt.  For  the  moment,  I 
was  like  a  person  with  a  front  of  brass. 

*  You've  forgotten  what  happiness  is,"  he 
continued,  and  there  was  no  reproach  in  his 
voice.  '  You  are  shutting  yourself  off  from 
all  who  love  you.  You  are  trying  to  depend 
on  nobody  but  yourself.  You  are  striving  to 
build  happiness  out  of  sneers  and  cigarettes — 
and  it  won't  work.  Really,  it  won't.  Ruth, 
you  have  become  in  the  last  year  selfish — tre 
mendously.  You  think  of  nobody  but  your 
self.  Won't  you  tell  me  why? " 

At  that,  I  sprang  to  my  feet  and  put  my 
hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"  I  don't  think  I'm  selfish  at  all,  D  R! "  I 


38  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

cried,  trying  to  shake  him  as  an  emphasis  of 
my  words.  "  I  know  I'm  not.  But  I  have  a 
great  deal  to  stand — more  than  I  can  bear." 

My  voice  broke. 

"  So  many  women  think  the  same  thing,"  he 
reminded  me. 

"  Oh,  D  R,"  I  concluded,  "  sometimes  I 
think  I  can  stand  no  more ! " 

"  What  is  it?  " 

I  went  back  to  my  chair.  When  I  spoke 
again,  it  was  with  an  air  of  desperation. 

"  It's  Marjorie  Nesbit,  and  - 

I  checked  myself,  started  to  speak  again, 
and  was  silent,  tapping  the  carpet  with  the  toe 
of  my  shoe. 

"  Marjorie  and  George,  of  course,"  he  said 
without  surprise. 

I  leaned  toward  him  suddenly,  my  excite 
ment  grown  big.  He  resumed  his  place  on 
the  couch. 

"  So  you  have  seen  it!  "  I  said  tensely. 

"  No,"  he  answered  me  in  his  gentle,  even 
tone;  "  I've  seen  only  what  has  been  in  your 
thoughts." 

;<  It's  not  in  my  thoughts  at  all,"  I  said,  my 
words  jumbled  together  in  nervous  haste. 
"  It's  in  reality.  It's  in  my  life.  It's  in  my 
own  house.  Just  imagine  it!  This  peculiar 


MES.  MARDEN'S  OEDEAL  39 

woman  who  is  sought  by  men  like  Charlie  Cor 
coran!  I  don't  mean  anything  against 
Charlie,  but  you  know  he  doesn't  amount  to 
much — now,  does  he?  " 

D  R  had  stopped  smiling.  He  looked  at 
me  as  if  he  attempted  to  solve  a  scientific  prob 
lem,  neither  commending  nor  pitying  me. 

"  Oh,"  he  said  easily,  "  he's  a  very  good  sort 
of  fellow.  You  kept  him  from  marrying  an 
undesirable  woman,  didn't  you?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  agreed  carelessly.  "  In  spite 
of  his  wildness  and  drinking,  he's  a  good  sort— 
and  then,  he  belongs  to  our  set."  Agitation 
overtook  me  again.  "But  for  George  to  be 
mad  about  her !  Other  people  see  it.  I  know 
they  do,  and  his  lunacy  makes  a  fool  out  of 
me!  And  I  am  tied  hand  and  foot.  If  I 
threw  her  out  of  my  house  some  time,  if  I  in 
sulted  her,  it  would  be  merely  a  confession  of 
weakness.  My  pride  couldn't  stand  it." 

For  the  first  time  D  R  spoke  firmly. 

'  This     is    the    wildest    nonsense,     Ruth. 
George  loves  you." 

"  If  he  does,"  I  complained  bitterly,  "  it  is 
a  love  past  my  understanding." 

He  leaned  over  and  took  my  hands  in  his. 

'  That  is  the  hard  part  of  love,"  he  said,  as 
if  he  instructed  a  child.  "  So  much  of  it  is 


40  ME8.  MAEDEN'S  OKDEAL 

not  understood.  It  is  hard,  but  love  is  like 
that,  often — very  often." 

Momentarily  my  mood  softened. 

"  I  wonder,  D  R,"  I  said  a  little  wistfully, 
"  whether  you  could  help  me." 

"  Helping  people  is  my  profession,"  he 
assured  me. 

He  regarded  me  affectionately  and  added, 
"  What  started  the  trouble,  Ruth?  " 

In  spite  of  myself,  I  felt  all  hard  and  bitter 
once  more. 

"  It's  nothing  particularly  new,"  I  said  with 
a  laugh  that  was  almost  all  a  sneer.  "  It  hasn't 
the  virtue  of  novelty,  D  R.  It's  only  that  I 
don't — oh,  well,  my  husband  and  I  don't  suit." 

He  was  silent,  and  I  added  flippantly,  "  My 
story  is  every  woman's.  I  think  I  might  write 
a  play,  a  new  Every  woman." 

I  could  see  that  he  realized  he  had  made  no 
impression  upon  me,  had  failed  to  get  through 
the  wall  of  bitterness  I  had  built  up  around 
myself.  But  all  he  said  was, 

"  Some  day,  Ruth,  you'll  come  to  me  for 
help — and  find  it." 

I  laughed  incredulously  and  asked  him  if  he 
was  coming  to  my  dance.  D  R's  presence  in 
any  woman's  house  is  a  society  event. 

"  Don't   say   you're  not   coming,"    I   com- 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  41 

manded.  '  The  orchestra  has  been  engaged 
just  to  please  your  discriminating  ear." 

"  Of  course,  I'll  come — if  you  want  me,"  he 
said,  preparing  to  go. 

"  You  will  be,"  I  told  him,  "  my  greatest 
attraction." 

Looking  back  upon  that  talk  now,  I  can  see 
that  he  really  knew  how  I  suffered,  really  had 
a  general  idea  of  why  I  suffered.  He  said  I 
was  wrong  in  depending  upon  myself.  But 
upon  whom  else  was  I  to  depend  then?  Upon 
whom  else  may  I  depend  now?  My  husband 
has  failed  me.  Am  I  not  utterly  alone  in  all 
the  world? 

I  know  now  that  I  have  been  for  a  very  long 
time  exactly  like  hundreds  of  other  women  I 
have  seen  and  known.  They  look  worn  out, 
dissatisfied,  miserable.  To  them,  life  has  be 
come  barren,  a  tragedy.  The  flowers  are  all 
swept  away,  and  there  is  left  in  their  places 
only  sham,  make-believe,  the  paper  blossoms 
that  are  without  beauty  and  perfume. 
My  face  is  companion  to  the  faces  of  those 
women — it  has  the  irritable  look,  the  strained 
expression,  the  weary  eyes,  the  perceptible 
tightness  about  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  all 
the  badges  of  bitterness. 

And  certainly  my  life  is  like  theirs.     There 


42  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

are  times  when  I  despise  the  thought  of 
associating  with  anybody,  when  I  shrink  from 
the  sound  of  others'  voices,  when  I  feel  a  hot 
scorn  for  everybody.  These  periods  are  fol 
lowed  by  feverish  days  and  nights  when  I  try 
to  pack  the  hours  with  every  possible  kind  of 
amusement  and  distraction.  Instead  of  giv 
ing  myself  up  +o  morbid  thoughts  and  intro 
spection,  I  throw  myself  into  motoring,  bridge, 
golf,  the  theater,  dancing — but  the  enjoyment 
is  ashes  in  my  mouth,  my  laughter  is  always 
forced.  I  am  trying  to  forget  the  misery 
caused  by  the  knowledge  of  my  husband's  cold 
ness,  his  lack  of  love.  I  often  wonder  if  the 
world  ever  senses  even  a  little  bit  of  what  we 
neglected  wives  suffer. 

Here  we  are,  an  endless  parade  of  good- 
looking  women,  luxuriously  housed,  exquisitely 
gowned,  elegantly  groomed,  sleek,  be  jeweled. 
That  is  what  the  world  sees  and  envies.  But 
there  is  the  other,  the  real,  side  of  the  picture — 
here  we  are,  mourning  in  secret,  weeping  in 
the  dark,  starving  for  love,  hungering  for 
affection,  reaching  out  futile  hands  for  the 
dreams  we  shall  never,  never  realize,  hiding 
our  broken  hearts  under  silks  and  pendants — 
hiding  them  from  the  world,  but  never  from 
ourselves. 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  43 

There  must  be,  I  think,  a  special  hell  for  the 
men  who  give  young  wives  all  that  money  can 
buy  and  nothing  at  all  that  conies  from  love, 
appreciation,  soft  little  caresses,  approving 
glances,  whispered  endearments.  The  soul  of 
a  woman  demands  far  more  luxury  than  does 
her  body.  And,  if  that  soul  luxury  is  not 
given  by  her  husband,  she  looks  for  it  other 
where,  seeks  to  compel  it  from  the  world,  some 
times  by  rash  and  audacious  methods,  some 
times  by  pitiful  little  subterfuges  and  substitu 
tions. 

How  full  the  world  is  of  women  trying  to 
build  up  pathetic  little  palaces  of  happiness! 
And  how  pitifully  they  fail  when  the  cor 
ner  stone  has  been  destroyed  at  home  for 
ever! 

I  know,  because  I  am  one  of  them — and  I 
have  failed.  There  is  left  me  only  this  despair, 
and  with  the  despair  come  thoughts  that  lift 
me  from  my  chair  and  drive  me  from  room  to 
room  and  send  me  sometimes  cowering  against 
the  wall.  I  have  thoughts  which  I  am  afraid 
to  admit  even  to  myself. 

And  I  have  only  this  last  resort,  the  promise 
of  D  R  that  he  can  teach  me  how  to  regain  my 
happiness.  Do  you  wonder  that  I  doubt? 
To  me,  happiness  seems  to  have  fled  beyond 


44  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

the  edge  of  the  horizon.  How  can  D  R,  with 
all  his  skill,  build  up  the  trail  that  will  take  me 
to  it  again? 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  evening  for  my  dance  came,  and 
George  and  I — standing  side  by  side, 
with  that  impalpable  but  impenetrable  wall  of 
coldness  between  us — welcomed  our  guests.  I 
remember  that,  above  everything  else,  my  pur 
pose  was  to  demonstrate,  for  all  the  world  to 
see,  my  complete  unconsciousness  of  there  be 
ing  anything  between  Marjorie  and  my  hus 
band.  I  had  thought  it  all  out.  If  D  R  had 
detected  my  suffering  because  of  Marjorie, 
and  if  Charlie  Corcoran  had  sensed  it  in  his 
kindly,  blundering  fashion,  might  it  not  be 
possible  that  others  had  suspected  it?  To  dis 
arm  those  suspicions  was  my  plan,  then,  last 
night. 

I  would  be  more  than  friendly  to  Marjorie. 
I  would  even  show  her  unusual  attentions. 
And,  as  for  my  own  attitude,  I  would  be  in 
a  gale  of  good  spirits.  I  was  tensed  very  high, 
dangerously  high.  I  felt  as  if  every  nerve  and 
ligament  in  my  body  had  been  strung  taut. 
But  I  was  sure  of  myself,  certain  that  I  should 


46  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

triumph  and  silence  any  talk  that  might  have 
started. 

Marjorie  and  I  had  met  the  afternoon  be 
fore  in  a  shop  downtown,  and  the  meeting  had 
been  natural,  unconstrained,  without  any  em 
barrassment  whatever.  While  we  talked  I 
asked  her  laughingly  whether  she  had  seen  the 
"  interesting  tramp "  again.  At  that,  she 
hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  said  finally,  "  Yes, 
I've  seen  him  again.  He's  quite  remarkable." 

She  was  among  the  first  arrivals  last  night. 
I  had  never  seen  her  so  lovely.  In  pale  blue 
satin,  with  little  pink  roses  set  singly  in  her 
corsage  and  a  cluster  of  pink  roses  at  her  belt, 
she  was  beautifully  unaware  of  the  effect  she 
had  worked  for  hours  to  produce.  Under  the 
soft  lights  of  the  chandeliers,  her  hair  looked 
more  than  ever  like  burnished  copper.  Her 
tawny  eyes  were  brilliant.  I  thought  I  de 
tected  in  them  a  new  expression,  one  quite  new 
to  her,  a  look  of  nervousness,  almost  indecision. 
For  the  first  time  in  all  my  life,  I  thought  she 
labored  under  a  strain.  But  she  was  as 
statuesque,  as  "  superior,"  as  ever. 

Soon  after  she  appeared,  I  heard  old 
Mrs.  Susie  Mason,  who  always  says  exactly 
what  she  thinks,  confide  to  somebody  behind 
me: 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  47 

"  Look  at  that  Nesbit  girl.  What  a  tre 
mendous  possibility  for  evil  the  creature  is!  " 

And,  in  spite  of  the  thoroughness  with  which 
I  had  myself  in  hand,  I  felt  for  a  moment  ill 
at  ease. 

Half  an  hour  later  in  the  front  drawing- 
room,  my  attention  wandered  from  the  little 
group  of  women  with  whom  I  had  been  talk 
ing,  and  I  became  conscious  of  George  and 
Marjorie  close  by.  She  was  looking  at  him 
with  provocative  eyes — somebody  has  called 
her  eyes  "  unsatisfactory  because,  knowing 
what  they  can  reveal,  she  has  taught  them  to 
hide  everything."  I  could  not  see  his  face. 

"  If  you  insist,"  I  heard  her  say  in  a  high, 
clear  voice;  and  she  handed  him  her  card. 

He  said  something  that  made  her  laugh. 

"  Ananias,  I  believe,"  she  rebuked  him,  "  was 
not  a  dancing  man." 

Just  then  he  turned  and  caught  my  glance. 
My  eyes,  I  am  sure,  were  bleak  with  accusa 
tion.  I  could  not  help  it. 

It  was  after  eleven  when,  in  looking  for 
D  R,  I  made  my  way  into  the  library  and 
found  him  there  with  Charlie  Corcoran.  The 
two  men  stood  at  the  table  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  newly  lighted  cigarettes  in  their 
hands. 


48  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"You're  playing  me  false,  D  R!"  I  re 
proached.  '  You're  here  as  my  star  attrac 
tion,  my  great  exhibit,  and  you  run  away  from 
my  guests! " 

"  Probably,"  suggested  the  irrepressible 
Charlie,  with  a  bow  that  would  have  done 
honor  to  royalty,  "  for  the  pleasure  of  being 
thus  pursued." 

I  picked  up  a  cigarette,  and  Charlie  held 
the  lighter  for  me.  I  felt  a  momentary 
gratification  that  my  hand  did  not  tremble  as 
I  handled  the  cigarette.  I  was  awfully  nerv 
ous. 

"  A  problem  for  you  in  psychology,"  I 
flashed  irritably  to  D  R.  "Is  it  Society  that 
makes  people  foolish,  or  is  it  merely  foolish 
people  who  make  Society?  " 

Charlie  answered. 

'  To  be  a  foolish  person  in  a  perfectly 
graceful  manner,"  he  said,  "  is  the  only  real 
demand  Society  makes  of  anybody." 

'  Then  you've  met  the  demand.  You're 
perfectly  foolish  over  Marjorie  Nesbit!  " 

I  had  not  meant  to  say  that  or  anything  like 
it,  and  yet  nothing  could  have  kept  the  words 
from  my  lips.  D  R's  brows  went  up  a  trifle, 
and  Charlie  flushed. 

"  But  I  don't  blame  you,  Charlie,"  I  added 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  49 

in  a  swirl  of  words.  "  She's  brilliant.  She's 
lovely.  She's  alluring.  I  believe  she " 

Both  of  them  were  looking  toward  the  door 
leading  from  the  ballroom.  I  glanced  around 
and  saw  Marjorie. 

"  You're  just  in  time,"  I  said  gaily,  putting 
my  arm  round  her  waist  as  she  joined  us. 
"  Charlie  has  been  sighing  for  you." 

She  did  not  look  at  Charlie,  and  instantane 
ously  I  got  the  impression  that  she  was  sorry 
to  find  him  there. 

I  turned  swiftly  to  D  R. 

'  You  two  are  the  twin  stars,"  I  commented, 
"  Marjorie  for  loveliness,  you  for  brains." 

Marjorie  laughed  indolently. 

'  What  a  neat  way  of  calling  me  idiot,"  she 
drawled  lazily. 

"You  goose!  "  I  denied.  "  Your  hats  alone 
would  disprove  that.  Once  a  season  a  genius 
comes  among  us.  It  is  always  the  woman  who 
knows  how  to  select  her  own  hats.  And  the 
one  you  wore  yesterday  was  the  height  of  all 
your  achievements." 

"  I  would  award  that  praise  to  her  hair," 
interjected  Charlie,  to  whom  she  had  not  yet 
cast  even  a  glance. 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  corrected.  "  Women  choose 
the  hats,  God  chose  the  hair." 


60  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

The  music  for  the  next  dance  began. 

"  This  is  mine,  I  believe,"  Charlie  spoke 
across  the  group  to  Marjorie  and  came  around 
to  her  side. 

She  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  turned 
with  him  toward  the  ballroom. 

'What  an  excellent  memory  you  have!" 
Irony  was  in  her  voice.  "  I  came  in  here  to 
rest  because  I  had  forgotten  the  dance  was 
taken." 

"  Charlie,"  I  called  after  him,  "  don't  forget 
Mary  Calhoun." 

Mary  is  a  hopeless  debutante  with  a  fixed 
habit  of  never  having  partners. 

As  they  disappeared,  I  seated  myself  on  the 
table,  swinging  my  feet,  like  a  child. 

"  D  R,  I  detest  her — thoroughly,"  I  said 
almost  breathlessly. 

"  So  I  saw,"  he  answered,  leaning  against 
the  back  of  the  morris  chair  and  looking  at  me 
intently. 

"  So  you  saw?  "  I  was  surprised. 

"  Yes — so  I  saw." 

"  How? " 

"  Effusiveness  such  as  you  showed  her  is  al 
ways  used  to  cover  up  dislike.  Besides,  you 
went  out  of  your  way  to  call  her  a  fool." 

My  irritation  grew. 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  61 

I  slid  from  the  table  and  stood  rapping  it 
with  my  left  hand. 

"  Why  do  I  entertain  women?  "  I  exclaimed. 
"  Why  do  I  annoy  myself  with  them  at  all? 
They  are  the  bane  of  my  existence." 

"  How?  "  he  asked  quietly. 

"Take  Mary  Calhoun— utterly  stupid!" 
I  burst  forth  in  a  storm  of  unbridled  con 
demnation.  "  Her  feet  are  her  only  accom 
plishment.  Why,  D  R,  if  that  girl  develops 
a  chilblain,  her  mother  is  more  concerned  than 
if  she  had  a  clot  on  the  brain.  On  the  other 
hand,  there's  Marjorie  Nesbit — immensely 
clever.  The  ones  with  minds  have  no  morals, 
and  the  ones  with  morals  have  nothing." 

My  manner  defied  him  to  rebuke  me. 

"  I  wonder,  Ruth,"  he  said  gently,  "  if  you 
realize  how  different  you  are  from  the  happy, 
kindly,  beautiful  woman  you  were  a  little  more 
than  a  year  ago." 

"  Do  you  think  I  am?  "  I  asked,  and  immedi 
ately  forced  myself  back  into  the  flippant 
mood. 

"  Oh,  D  R,"  I  said,  imitating  the  manner 
of  a  stump  orator,  "  you're  so  wise  you  frighten 
me.  You,  with  your  psychology,  know  every 
thing — why  the  moon  is  called  *  she '  and  all 
the  woman-myths  about  her;  the  terrific  sig- 


52  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

nificance  of  the  fact  that  men  erect  on  their 
temples  of  worship  long  steeples  that  reach  to 
ward  the  sky;  and  why  brides  wear  orange 
blossoms  in  their  hair.  You  know  the  work 
of  Gerard  Dow  and  Velasquez.  Kant, 
Swedenborg,  Freud  and  all  the  rest  of  them 
are  at  your  finger  tips.  You  know  why 
Shakespeare  wrote  Hamlet,  and  you  can  tell 
what  effect  Byron's  club-foot  had  on  his  verse. 
Oh,  what  a  wise  man  you  are!  You  have 
analyzed  in  your  own  mind  the  souls  of  our 
statesmen.  You  can  trace  the  causes  of 
crime.  You  know  every  thing !" 

I  waved  my  hands  above  my  head  and 
laughed.  He  did  not  answer  me. 

As  suddenly  as  it  had  come,  frivolity  left 
me.  I  was  about  to  apologize  when  Mary 
Calhoun's  sharp  voice  reached  me. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Marden,"  she  said  from  the 
double  door  at  the  back  of  the  room,  "  Mr. 
Corcoran  told  me  you  wanted  to  see  me." 

"  Did  he? "  I  returned  with  thinly  veiled 
sarcasm.  "  That  was  so  nice  of  him !  " 

I  turned  to  D  R  as  Mary  came  forward. 

"  And  now,  D  R,  do  go  and  let  my  guests 
see  you.  Talk  for  five  minutes  to  that  dear 
old  Mrs.  Phillips.  You'll  find  her  interesting. 
Her  hair  is  a  survival  of  the  Indian  custom 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  53 

of  scalping  others  for  one's  own  beautifica- 
tion." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  meet  such  a  war 
rior,"  he  laughed,  obeying  my  direction. 

I  turned  to  the  Calhoun  girl. 

"  It's  so  nice  of  you,  Mary,  to  desert  all 
those  young  men  and  come  in  to  see  me." 

My  show  of  affection  was  overdone.  I  took 
scarcely  any  care  to  conceal  my  boredom.  I 
was  tired. 

"  I  came  in,  Mrs.  Marden,"  she  said,  balling 
her  handkerchief  in  her  hands,  "  really  because 
I  had  heard  something  I  thought  you  ought  to 
know." 

"Really?" 

"  Yes — about  Marjorie  Nesbit." 

"  Indeed!  "     The  sarcasm  was  broad. 

"  Of  course,"  she  explained,  shifting  her 
weight  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  "  I  know 
it  isn't  true,  because  Marjorie  never  was  in 
love  with  anybody  in  her  life.  That's  why  it 
sounded  so  absurd  to  me.  That's  why  I 
thought  I'd  tell  you.  It  was  something  I 
heard  about  her  and — well,  you  know  it  al 
ways  has  seemed  to  me  that  married  women 
would  like  to  hear  what's  being  said  about  their 
husbands  and — and  other  women.  So  few  of 
them  really  do  hear  it,  you  know," 


54  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

Trying  to  maintain  the  appearance  of  self- 
control,  I  held  my  hands  behind  me,  clutching 
my  fan  with  all  my  strength. 

"Yes?"  I  said  slowly.  "That's  exceed 
ingly  interesting." 

'  This  was  something  about  Marjorie  and 
Mr.  Harden." 

I  did  not  answer  that,  and  Mary,  mistaking 
my  silence  for  interest,  continued: 

"  It  was  something  Mrs.  Mason  said.  She 
was  talking  about  Marjorie  and  Mr.  Marden 
just  now,  and  she  said — she  said  you  were 
either  the  most  stupid  or  the  most  stupendous 
character  in  the  world.  She  said " 

The  girl  checked  herself,  her  mouth  half 
open,  as  she  saw  for  the  first  time  the  anger  in 
my  face.  I  lifted  both  my  hands  as  if  to  strike 
her.  Why  I  didn't,  I  don't  know. 

"  How  dare  you  say  such  a  thing  to  me? " 
I  demanded,  my  voice  coming  shrill  through 
the  contracted  muscles  of  my  throat.  "  How 
dare  you !  "  I  made  a  wild  gesture  toward  the 
door.  "  Out  of  here!  Go  out,  I  tell  you! " 
I  stamped  both  feet,  one  after  the  other. 
"  Leave  me  before  I  lose  the  last  bit  of  my 
self-control." 

Absolutely  terrified,  she  sank  to  the  edge  of 
the  chair  behind  her  ancl  tried  to  speak.  She 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  55 

swallowed  the  lump  in  her  throat  twice  before 
she  succeeded  in  regaining  her  voice. 

"  I — I  don't  know,"  she  stammered.     "  I'm 

so  sorry.     I " 

'  You  idiot!  "  I  told  her,  as  I  hurried  toward 
the  door  to  the  ballroom.  '  You  perfect  little 
idiot!  Never  enter  my  house  again.  You 
are  as  insolent  as  you  are  stupid!  " 

I  left  her,  that  ridiculous  look  of  fright  still 
on  her  face. 


CHAPTER  VII 

BACK  in  the  ballroom,  Dick  Jerdyce  swept 
me  into  a  one-step. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me,  Dick,"  I  said.  "  I've 
chattered  so  much  my  head's  going  around  like 
a  pinwheel." 

I  was  scarcely  conscious  of  dancing.  The 
one  idea  that  kept  crowding  through  my  mind 
was  that  I  must  keep  myself  in  hand,  that 
under  no  circumstances  must  I  let  myself  go, 
that  I  must  carry  through  my  plan  of  showing 
that  Marjorie  did  not  annoy  me.  It  was  all 
the  more  necessary  now,  I  thought  bitterly. 
Everybody  knew  about  her  and  George — even 
that  silly  little  child  who  had  brought  the  story 
to  me! 

Suddenly  I  felt  the  need  of  being  alone,  of 
having  a  few  minutes  in  which  to  regain  self- 
control.  My  breath  was  coming  and  going  so 
fast  that  it  was  like  gasps.  I  wanted  air. 

I  left  Dick  and,  making  my  escape  from 
everybody,  went  down  the  hall  leading  to  the 
back  veranda.  Looking  on  this  veranda  is  one 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  57 

of  the  library  windows.  And,  further  on,  are 
steps  leading  down  into  the  gardens  behind  the 
house,  and  a  door  that  is  an  exit  from  the  con 
servatory. 

When  I  got  to  the  library  window,  I  heard 
Marjorie's  voice.  Although  it  was  late 
October  and  the  night  was  chilly,  the  window 
was  open,  and  through  the  light  curtains  that 
rippled  a  little  in  the  breeze  I  saw  Marjorie 
and  Charlie.  Without  hesitation,  without  cal 
culation,  but  in  obedience  to  a  blind  instinct,  I 
went  to  the  window  and  listened  to  what  they 
were  saying.  I  had  never  done  such  a  thing  in 
all  my  life.  If  I  had  stopped  to  think,  I  would 
not  have  done  it  then.  But  there  was  no  power 
of  thought  left  in  me.  I  was  all  feeling.  I 
was  like  a  stricken  thing  that  darts  hither  and 
thither  in  the  hope  of  relief  or  comfort  or  help 
of  some  sort.  I  did  not  even  know  why  I 
listened.  I  remember  that  my  handkerchief 
was  pressed  tight  against  my  lips  as  if  I  feared 
I  would  scream.  And  I  was  trembling  like  a 
leaf  in  the  wind. 

Charlie  was  standing  at  the  reading  table, 
the  soft  light  flooding  his  handsome  face  and 
showing  the  expression  of  anxiety  that  was  on 
it.  Marjorie  sat  in  the  morris  chair  across  the 
table  from  him.  I  could  see  her  face  also.  It 


58  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

wore  that  look  of  aloofness  and  near-boredom 
I  knew  so  well. 

"  Of  course,  we  ended  all  that  last  night," 
she  was  saying. 

Her  attitude  suggested  extreme  languor. 

"  A  thing  like  that  is  not  easily  ended,"  he 
contradicted  tensely. 

She  looked  at  him  and,  in  doing  it,  exasper 
ated  him. 

"  I  don't  think,"  she  said  with  a  little  laugh, 
"  I  ever  have  found  it  difficult." 

"  But  some  day  you  may  — find  it  difficult," 
he  answered,  and  all  at  once  Charlie,  who  had 
been  the  spendthrift  of  his  time,  the  waster  of 
his  own  energy,  took  on  somehow  the  dignity 
of  determined  manhood. 

Marjorie  fanned  herself  slowly,  and,  looking 
up  to  him  again,  laughed  softly. 

'  Why  weep  for  the  future? "  she  derided 
him. 

He  clenched  his  hands  at  his  sides. 

"Marjorie,  why  do  you  laugh?"  he  de 
manded. 

'  Because,"  she  replied  tranquilly,  "  at  last 
you  have  succeeded  in  doing  what  few  others 
have  done.  You  amuse  me." 

:<  I  saw  you  laugh  like  that  at  George 
Mar  den  just  now,  when  you  were  dancing 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  59 

with  him,"  he  said  hotly.  "  I  suppose  he 
amuses  you?  " 

"  No,"  she  admitted.  "  He  puzzles  me — 
greatly.  And  I've  made  quite  a  study  of 
him." 

I  shrank  as  if  I  had  been  struck.  I  had  the 
peculiar  sensation  of  feeling  far-off  and  being 
physically  smaller. 

Charlie  put  his  hands,  palms  down,  on  the 
table  and  leaned  toward  Marjorie  so  that  the 
reading  lamp  threw  into  still  bolder  relief  his 
indignant  face. 

"  How  wonderfully,  how  marvelously,  you 
have  deceived  me!  "  he  said. 

"  How  beautifully  you  flatter  me,"  she 
laughed  again. 

"  Marjorie,"  he  told  her,  his  arms  trembling, 
"  I  couldn't  believe  you  when  you  told  me  last 
night  you  did  not  love  me.  But  I  believe  you 
now.  You  have  never  loved  any  man.  And 
there's  not  the  remotest  possibility  of  your  ever 
loving  me." 

The  music  for  the  next  dance  began.  It 
was  a  light,  rollicking  tune  intended  to  picture 
gayety  and  love.  Marjorie  started  to  rise. 

"  One  moment,"  he  commanded.  "  All 
that's  true,  isn't  it — that  you  will  never  love 
me?" 


60  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  Quite,"  she  answered  resignedly,  sinking 
back  into  the  chair. 

"  What  a  stupendous  comedy  you  have 
played!"  he  denounced  her. 

He  stood  erect,  bitterness  linking  his  words 
together,  and  occasionally  he  struck  the  table 
with  his  clenched  hand. 

"  What  lovely  lies !  You  have  lied  to  me 
with  your  words — lied  to  me  with  your  eyes — 
lied  to  me  with  your  smiles.  You  have  in  your 
voice  fifty  tones  that  are  nothing  but  fifty  dif 
ferent  kinds  of  lies !  And  it  means  that  you're 
the  greatest  coward  that  ever  stepped  the 
earth.  You  torture  the  hearts  of  the  people 
who  have  no  redress,  no  possible  means  of 
revenge.  They  have  no  revenge  because  you 
have  no  heart!  " 

She  put  up  her  hand,  frowning  her  irritation, 
but  he  swept  on: 

"  Why,  you're  not  a  real  woman  at  all — not 
a  woman  to  be  wooed  with  love  or  won  by 
adoration!  You're  the  other  sort  of  woman. 
You're  an  alien  to  all  the  beauties  that  are  not 
above  the  skin.  You  are  one  who  ought  to  be 
taken  by  force  and  bruised  and  crushed  and 
hurt.  You  ought  to  have  passion  forced  upon 
you.  Then  you'd  come  to  know  the  sort  of 
beggarly,  trembling  love  that  is  the  child  of 


MBS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  61 

physical  fear.  If  any  man  ever  treats  you  so, 
he'll  break  you  and  make  you  crawl  at  his  feet 
and  thank  him  for  the  way  in  which  he  has 
degraded  you." 

He  stopped  and  regarded  her,  his  chest 
heaving,  his  right  hand  at  his  collar  as  if  he 
sought  to  give  room  to  his  rapid  breath. 

"Charlie!" 

She  spoke  his  name  sharply  and  looked  at 
him  with  intense  interest. 

He  was  surprised  by  her  tone,  which  had  in 
it  a  color  he  had  never  known. 

"What?" 

I  could  see  that  he  was  wondering  what  that 
new  note  in  her  voice  meant.  To  me,  even  in 
my  storming  rage,  it  recalled  for  a  moment  the 
way  she  had  spoken  to  the  tramp  at  the  door 
of  her  mother's  kitchen. 

She  was  leaning  far  back  in  the  chair  now, 
all  the  lines  of  her  figure  relaxing. 

"  Come  here,'"  she  said. 

He  could  not  believe  that  he  really  heard 
the  thing  in  her  voice.  He  walked  slowly 
round  the  table  and  stood  in  front  of  her. 

"  Round  here,"  she  directed  softly,  indicat 
ing  the  place  at  her  left;  "here — on  this 
side." 

When  he  had  obeyed  her,  she  let  her  head 


62  MBS.  MAEDEK'S  OEDEAL 

rest  on  the  back  of  the  chair,  her  face  turned 
upward  to  him,  her  eyelids  lowered.  Her  lips 
were  half -parted.  And  her  arms  were  limp 
on  the  arms  of  the  chair.  Her  fan  dropped 
from  her  right  hand  to  the  floor.  He  did  not 
pick  it  up.  He  was  fighting  for  clear  con 
sciousness,  was  trying  to  say  to  himself  that 
there  could  be  no  possibility  of  her  telling  him 
that  she  loved  him. 

She  looked  up  at  him  at  last,  a  slow,  new 
smile  on  her  lips.  Her  breast  rose  and  fell 
rapidly.  She  was  all  abandon.  The  eyes  she 
had  schooled  to  conceal  her  thoughts  revealed 
them. 

Held  by  her  gaze,  he  bent  over  her,  resting 
both  his  hands  on  the  left  arm  of  her  chair. 
They  looked  at  each  other  a  long  time.  The 
questions  he  asked  and  the  answers  she  gave 
were  without  words. 

The  spell  broke.  He  started  erect  and  flung 
out  both  his  arms,  making  the  gesture  eloquent 
of  despair.  His  clenched  hands  came  together 
as  if  he  sought  to  choke  to  death  an  enemy. 
He  turned  from  her  and  walked  with  slow, 
groping  steps  to  the  bookcase  near  the  con 
servatory  door.  His  arms  fell  rigid  at  his 
sides.  He  went  like  a  man  mortally  stricken. 
He  stood  with  his  back  to  her  a  moment 


MBS.  MAKDEN'S  OBDEAL  63 

while  she  watched  him,  the  new  smile  still 
on  her  lips,  the  strange  look  still  in  her 
eyes. 

Again  he  put  out  his  hands  in  that  gesture 
of  choking  some  one.  His  long,  nervous 
fingers  writhed.  It  was  gruesome  to  see.  It 
was  as  if  for  the  moment  he  had  in  his  surging 
thoughts  the  picture  of  her  white  throat  under 
his  spasmodic  grasp.  I  shall  never  forget  the 
realism  of  it — never ! 

At  last  he  faced  her  and  passed  both  his 
trembling  hands  across  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Marjorie!  "  he  groaned  in  tremendous 
sorrow. 

'Well?"  Her  voice  was  a  base  tempta 
tion. 

He  took  one  step  toward  her  and  stood, 
half-dazed. 

"  Do  you  know — do  you  know  what  I  saw — 
in  your  eyes? " 

"  A  confession — of  myself,"  she  laughed 
softly,  confidingly. 

He  sprang  forward  and  towered  above  her. 

'  Then,  by  heaven,  it's  true ! "  he  said  with 
infinite  bitterness.  "  Oh,  I  knew  what  it  was ! 
I've  seen  it  before,  in  the  eyes  of  women — 
hellish  women.  You  can  buy  it  from  some 
women's  eyes!  But  they  aren't  such  women 


64  MES.  MABDEN'S  OEDEAL 

as  you,  Marjorie — not  such  a  woman  as  I 
thought  you." 

He  stared  at  her  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
He  seemed  too  astounded  to  concentrate  his 
ideas,  too  shaken  to  believe  what  he  knew  to  be 
true. 

'  Why,  Marjorie,  that  is  an  awful  thing — a 
damnable  discovery!  "  he  said  wildly.  '  You, 
Marjorie!  All  body  and  no  soul!  " 

She  regained  her  tranquillity.  Irony  was  in 
her  voice,  and  nothing  in  her  eyes. 

'  Then  you  disapprove,"  she  said  lightly. 

She  rose  and  turned  toward  the  door  to  the 
ballroom. 

'  What  a  mistake,"  she  added,  "  to  change 
what  might  have  been  a  warm  little  comedy 
into  a  farce." 

She  had  taken  two  steps  when  Charlie 
sprang  to  her  side  and  grasped  the  bare  flesh 
of  her  right  arm.  There  was  brutality  in  his 
grip. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  said  roughly.  '  You  come 
with  me." 

He  indicated  the  door  leading  to  the  con 
servatory. 

She  looked  at  him  coldly. 

'  The  farce  is  done,"  she  answered  him, 
anger  in  her  voice. 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  65 

"  And  reality  is  about  to  begin,"  he  coun 
tered,  his  compelling  grasp  stronger  upon  her 
arm.  His  gaze  was  domineering,  and  blazing 
with  desire,  animal  and  unhidden  desire. 

She  laughed,  and  there  was  a  strident  note 
in  her  voice. 

'What  heroics!"  she  bantered  him,  armed 
in  all  her  cool  self-possession. 

Then  she  followed  him  into  the  conservatory. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

I  LEFT  the  window  and  went  back  to  the 
hall  and  into  the  library.  There  was  still 
upon  me  that  strange  feeling  of  being  far  off, 
of  being  another  person  and  watching  with 
strained  eyes  my  real  self.  I  repeated  under 
my  breath  several  times: 

"  Marjorie  is  low — low — bad." 

Twice  within  three  days  I  had  seen  the  real 
Marjorie,  the  sensual  woman,  once  with 
Charlie,  once  with  a  nondescript  of  the  streets 
who  had  come  to  her  back  door  begging  bread ! 
And  that  was  the  woman  who  had  attracted 
my  husband,  the  woman  with  whom  he  had 
spent  a  night  on  the  roadside,  the  woman  from 
whom  he  had  begged  a  dance! 

My  only  emotion  for  the  moment  was  one 
of  overpowering  rage,  not  against  her,  but 
against  George.  He  had  deceived  me  as 
Marjorie  had  deceived  Charlie!  I  was  con 
scious  that  my  nostrils  distended  uncomfort 
ably,  and  that  my  breathing  was  audible.  I 
moved  my  head  slowly  from  side  to  side,  try- 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  67 

ing  to  get  rid  of  the  tight,  drawn  feeling  at  the 
back  of  my  neck.  My  hands  clasped  cease 
lessly  on  my  handkerchief. 

Then  I  made  a  tremendous  effort  to  control 
my  movements,  to  keep  myself  from  flying  to 
pieces.  I  must  act,  I  thought.  I  must  act 
and  bring  things  to  a  conclusion  once  for  all. 
I  had  been  played  with  enough.  The  time  had 
come  to  put  an  end  to  what  I  was  suffering, 
the  impositions  of  my  husband,  the  secret  con 
tempt  of  Marjorie,  the  gossip  of  outsiders.  I 
forgot  entirely  my  determination  not  to  make 
a  scene,  my  resolution  to  prove  my  indiffer 
ence  toward  Marjorie.  I  would  show  every 
body  that  my  pride  could  not  be  trampled  into 
the  dust  with  impunity. 

I  stepped  to  the  table  and  put  my  finger  on 
the  electric  bell  button.  While  I  waited,  I 
picked  up  a  cigarette,  and  I  remember  now 
that  the  hand  with  which  I  held  the  alcohol 
lighter  trembled  so  violently  that  I  had  diffi 
culty  in  igniting  the  tobacco.  I  stood  with 
my  back  toward  the  conservatory.  With  a 
supreme  effort  I  got  the  cigarette  to  my  lips 
and  inhaled  some  smoke.  As  I  did  it,  I  won 
dered  in  an  absurd  sort  of  way  why  I  wanted 
the  smoke. 

Jeffries  appeared  in  answer  to  my  ring. 


68  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  Find  Mr.  Harden,"  I  told  him.  "  Say 
that  I  wish  to  see  him  at  once — here." 

The  music  in  the  ballroom  annoyed  me  un 
speakably.  The  sound  of  men's  and  women's 
laughter  enraged  me  anew.  I  hated  anybody 
who  could  laugh.  What  did  all  that  dancing 
and  chatter  amount  to  anyway?  That  was  the 
way  with  people — they  cared  always  only  for 
themselves.  And  women's  hearts  break  often- 
est  in  garish  scenes,  to  the  sound  of  music, 
unnoticed.  Our  tragedies  are  not  even  things 
of  pomp  and  majestic  gloom. 

Again  I  moved  my  head  from  side  to  side, 
and,  as  I  did  so,  caught  sight  of  the  fan  Mar- 
jorie  had  dropped.  I  stooped  down  and 
picked  it  up,  some  horrible  feeling  of  loathing 
creeping  over  me.  I  spread  it  open  and  looked 
at  it  while  my  tremulous  hand  got  the  cigarette 
to  my  mouth  once  more.  I  tossed  away  the 
cigarette,  and  slowly,  with  a  painful  delibera 
tion  caused  by  the  stiffness  of  my  fingers,  tore 
the  fan  to  ribbons,  rib  by  rib.  With  an  ex 
clamation  of  disgust,  I  dropped  it  to  the  floor 
at  my  feet. 

George  came  in  from  the  ballroom. 

'  You  sent  for  me?  "  he  asked  coldly. 

I  did  not  look  toward  him  at  once.  I 
desperately  wished  to  appear  calm,  to  have  my 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  69 

features  under  control.  I  was  telling  myself 
that  I  must  seem  dignified,  mistress  of  myself, 
able  to  deal  with  the  situation  thoroughly. 

"  Sit  down,"  I  said,  a  little  tremor  in  my 
voice.  I  took  the  chair  at  the  right  of  the 
table. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  he  asked,  in  a  bored 
tone. 

I  answered  him  imperiously,  pointing  to  the 
chair  Marjorie  had  left. 

"Sit  down!" 

He  sat  down  and  looked  across  the  table  at 
me  out  of  cold,  i.^Acssionless  eyes. 

"  There  are  some  things  I  want  to  know,"  I 
said.  "  I  want  to  ask  you  a  few  questions." 

"  Now?  "     He  seemed  a  little  surprised. 

'Yes;  now!"  I  said  sharply. 

"  But  our  guests,"  he  objected.  "  Why 
neglect  them? " 

"  It  concerns  one  of  our  guests,"  I  told  him 
curtly. 

'  Very  well,"  he  sighed  in  exaggerated 
patience,  "  but  let  us  be  quick  about  it." 

'  Why  is  it?  "  I  asked,  my  voice  metallic, 
"  that  things  have  been  so  different  between  us 
for  the  last  year?  " 

In  my  battle  for  self-control,  in  my 
anguished  effort  to  keep  my  brain  clear,  I  was 


70  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

so  rigid  and  at  the  same  time  so  tremulous 
that  I  might  have  been  suggestive  of  a  cable 
about  to  snap  under  the  strain  of  enormous 
weight. 

"  How  do  you  mean? "  he  inquired  care 
lessly. 

"  I  mean:  what  do  you  see  in  Marjorie 
Nesbit? " 

"  Merely  a  very  pretty  woman." 

"  So  you  do  see  that!  "  I  said  slowly. 

"  Look  here,  Ruth! "  he  exclaimed  angrily. 
'  What  the  deuce  are  you  trying  to  make  me 
say? " 

"  And  tell  me  this,"  I  disregarded  his  ques 
tion.  "  What  do  you  see — what  have  you  ever 
seen  in  Marjorie's  Nesbit's  eyes?  " 

'  What  do  you  think  I  am — an  oculist?  " 

"  Answer  me!  What  have  you  ever  seen  in 
her  eyes?  " 

'  Well,"  he  sneered  openly,  "  she  has  rather 
pretty  eyes,  hasn't  she — or  has  she?  " 

My  laugh  was  scarcely  audible,  but  it  was 
disagreeable  to  my  own  ears. 

"  I  am  told  that  men — some  men — see  more 
than  that,"  I  said,  my  voice  dead  of  all  expres 
sion.  "  In  fact,  her  eyes  are,  I  believe,  a 
curious  literature." 

He  rose,  and  laughed  mirthlessly. 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  71 

"  I'm  going  back  to  the  ballroom,"  he 
declared. 

I,  too,  rose,  and  confronted  him. 

"  No;  you're  not  going  back! "  I  told  him 
with  harsh  swiftness.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
mean.  I  mean  your  shameful  and  shameless 
affair  with  Marjorie  Nesbit!  I  mean  I  won't 
submit  any  longer  to  this  unbearable  situa 
tion." 

He  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  and  looked  at 
me,  calculating. 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  tomfoolery,"  he  said 
brutally. 

"  Well,  I  have!  "  My  voice  lost  its  metallic 
flatness,  and  some  of  my  words  were  shrill. 
"  Everybody  else  has!  Of  course,  I  was  the 
last  to  hear  of  it.  I  heard  it  from  Mary 
Calhoun — and  she  heard  it  from  old  Mrs. 
Mason." 

"Old  women's  tales — ridiculous  stuff!"  he 
scoffed,  still  with  that  maddening  sneer. 

'I  am  ridiculous!"  I  was  raging  at  last, 
and  knew  it,  and  took  a  savage  delight  in 
letting  myself  go.  "  That's  the  truth  of  the 
matter.  I  am  made  ridiculous  by  my  husband 
in  my  own  house — all  because  of  a  woman 
whose  vulgarity,  whose  depravity,  is  such  that 
it  outrages  the  sense  of  decency  in  a  man  like 


72  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

Charlie  Corcoran.  Think  of  that!  I  am 
ridiculous  because  I've  given  myself,  my  soul, 
to  you — and  all  the  time  your  life  is  a  prayer 
for  the  love  of  another  woman !  " 

4 '  It  is  impossible  to  argue  with  you,"  he  said 
contemptuously.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  I'm 
in  love  with  Marjorie  Nesbit?  " 

He  started  to  leave  the  room. 

'  Then  you  persist  in  lying  to  me?  " 

My  question  was  like  an  insult  to  a  com 
parative  stranger.  He  turned  to  me  once 
more. 

"Oh,  cut  it!"  he  exploded.  "If  I  don't 
suit  you,  how  the  thunder  can  I  help  it? 
You're  getting  too  high  and  mighty,  young 
woman!  What  you  need  is  discipline — 
yes,  discipline — something  to  force  you  to 
realize " 

All  the  tautness  and  rigidity  that  had  been 
in  my  figure  broke  up.  In  a  flash  I  was  a 
supple,  writhing  creature,  my  head  thrust  far 
toward  him,  my  feet  restless,  my  arms  moving 
jerkily. 

"Don't  you  dare  say  that  to  me!"  My 
voice  was  almost  a  whisper.  "  That's  what 
Charlie  said  to  her — physical  force!  It's  the 
crowning  insult — the  last  affront  you  will  ever 
put  upon  me! — Don't  stand  there  like  a  red- 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  73 

stone  image.  Don't  talk  to  me!  Get  out  of 
my  sight.  Leave  me  alone — alone!  " 

I  stood  erect  now,  my  head  moving  from 
side  to  side,  my  whole  body  in  slight,  continual 
motion.  I  felt  as  if  my  eyebrows  were  drawn 
upward  toward  my  hair  by  some  irresistible 
force.  My  jaws  held  together  like  a  vise. 

Without  a  word  he  turned,  and,  shrugging 
his  shoulders,  left  me. 

I  stood  for  a  moment,  leaning  against  the 
table  and  looking  vaguely  round  the  room.  I 
remember  wondering,  in  a  detached  and  coldly 
impersonal  way,  whether  anybody  had  heard 
what  I  had  said  to  George,  and  then  deciding 
that  I  did  not  care  if  they  had. 

My  glance  was  caught  again  by  the  torn  fan. 
Marjorie!  I  shuddered.  I  picked  up  the 
fan  and,  after  trailing  the  rags  through  my 
fingers,  snapped  the  ivory  ribs  one  by  one.  I 
let  it  drop  again,  and,  my  whole  form  sud 
denly  crushed  by  weariness,  started  slowly  to 
ward  the  conservatory.  My  one  idea  was 
flight,  to  get  away  from  the  merriment  in  the 
ballroom,  to  escape  from  the  people  who 
chattered  and  laughed.  My  anger  seemed,  all 
at  once,  miraculously  submerged  under  the 
weight  of  an  indescribable  weariness.  It  was 
a  peculiar,  dead  feeling. 


74  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

I  heard  D  R's  voice  and  paused  at  the  con 
servatory  door. 

"  So  you  see,  Miss  Calhoun,"  he  was  saying 
as  he  and  Mary  came  from  the  ballroom,  "  I 
may  be  very  old-fashioned,  but  that  is  my 
theory — that  love  is  everything,  that  love  is 
life." 

Standing  in  the  doorway,  I  laughed  weakly. 

"  Tell  her,  D  R,"  I  said,  "  what  sort  of  life! 
Be  sure  to  tell  her  that." 

It  is  from  that  moment  that  I  can  not  re 
member  what  I  saw,  or  did,  or  said — from  that 
moment  until  eleven  o'clock  this  morning. 
My  losing  consciousness  or  memory,  or  what 
ever  it  may  be  called,  came  without  warning. 
I  felt  nothing  snap  in  my  head.  I  had  no 
sensation  of  fainting.  My  identity  was  just 
blotted  out  from  me. 

But  D  R  told  me  a  few  hours  ago  all  that 
happened,  that  is,  all  he  knows. 

He  and  the  Calhoun  child  sat  on  the  leather 
divan  opposite  the  conservatory  door  and 
waited  for  me  to  come  back.  D  R  thought  I 
had  gone  in  there  to  look  for  somebody,  and 
Mary  had  come  to  apologize  to  me  for  having 
hurt  my  feelings ! 

They  had  been  there,  D  R  told  me,  for  seven 
or  eight  minutes  when  he  saw  me  come  out  of 


MRS.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL  75 

the  conservatory.  His  first  glance  at  me  was 
enough  to  make  him  spring  toward  me.  My 
face  was  pallid,  so  that  the  distorted  pattern 
of  my  features  was  hardly  noticeable.  The 
blood  had  left  my  lips,  and  the  only  color  in 
the  ghastly  whiteness  of  all  my  face  was  the 
fire  of  my  eyes.  I  was  in  a  half-crouching 
position,  my  chest  and  shoulders  thrust  for 
ward,  my  head  strained  backward,  my  arms 
hanging  limply  at  my  sides.  My  knees 
wavered  beneath  me  as  I  half-staggered, 
half-ran  into  the  room.  D  R  caught  me 
in  his  arms  and  held  me  upright  near  the 
table. 

When  I  spoke,  it  was  in  a  hoarse,  dry 
whisper. 

"  He's — he's  gone  out,"  I  said,  as  if  the 
words  hurt  me. 

Charlie  Corcoran's  figure  flashed  along  the 
veranda  outside,  past  the  bay  window.  In  a 
moment  he  came  through  the  hall  door. 

"  Marjorie — Marjorie  Nesbit,"  I  struggled 
with  my  news,  "  is  in  there "  —I  indicated 
the  conservatory  with  a  weak  wave  of  my 
hand—  "  in  there — dead." 

D  R,  with  the  impulse  of  the  physician,  left 
me  leaning  against  the  table  and  sprang  toward 
the  conservatory, 


76  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  Tell  me!"  Charlie's  voice  cut  in  heavily. 
"  What  are  you  saying?  " 

The  question  halted  D  R  at  the  conservatory 
door. 

"You  tell  us!  "  he  commanded  Charlie. 

Charlie,  dumbfounded,  made  no  reply. 

Music,  the  song  of  a  lover  asking  a  rose  from 
his  lady's  hair,  sounded  from  the  ballroom. 
Mary  had  gone  into  the  conservatory. 

"  He's  gone  out — gone  out,"  I  moaned. 

Without  looking  at  Charlie  or  D  R,  I 
laughed  foolishly,  emptily,  and  took  two  short 
steps  toward  the  morris  chair.  I  fell  against 
the  back  of  it,  and  D  R  came  to  my  help  again. 
I  still  was  laughing  foolishly,  my  head  bowed. 

"I  wish  I  hadn't  found  her!"  I  groaned 
through  my  uncanny  laughter.  "  Oh,  I  wish 
I  hadn't  seen  her — that's  all." 

I  collapsed  in  D  R's  arms.  Charlie  went 
with  hesitant  steps  into  the  conservatory. 


CHAPTER  IX 

I  HAD  told  them  the  truth.  There  in  the 
conservatory,  only  a  few  yards  from  the 
door  opening  on  the  veranda,  they  found 
Marjorie,  dead.  She  had  been  sitting  on  a 
rustic  bench,  and  her  head  was  flung  back  a 
little,  supported  by  the  edge  of  the  back  of 
the  bench.  There  were  dark  marks  on  the 
white  skin  of  her  throat.  She  had  been  choked 
to  death. 

When  D  R  told  me  that  this  morning,  I 
refused  to  believe  it.  It  was  not  a  matter  of 
my  wanting  to  believe  it  or  disbelieve  it.  It 
was  simply  that  it  seemed  too  horrible,  too 
monumental,  to  admit  of  belief.  I  could  not 
get  into  my  mind  an  adequate  representation 
of  what  had  happened.  Marjorie  dead — it 
could  not  be!  How,  in  so  short  a  time,  could 
death  have  come  to  all  that  loveliness,  a  loveli 
ness  which  I  had  just  seen  animated  by  her 
self-assured,  reckless  soul? 

I  said  to  D  R,  "  There  is  some  mistake.  It 
can't  be  true." 


78  MES.  HARDEN' S  ORDEAL 

I  repeated  that  over  and  over  again,  while  I 
sat  very  still,  my  limbs  heavy  as  lead,  my  mind 
rendered  torpid  by  the  immensity  of  what  he 
had  told  me.  And  then,  while  I  was  saying  it 
could  not  be  true,  I  remembered  Charlie  as  I 
had  seen  him  last  night,  the  look  of  agony  on 
his  face,  his  hands  stretched  out  in  front  of 
him,  his  long,  nervous  fingers  writhing  as  if — 
yes,  that  was  it — as  if  he  crushed  her  neck  in 
his  grasp. 

At  that,  I  huddled  down  in  my  chair,  shak 
ing  and  jerking  like  a  person  with  St.  Vitus' 
dance,  and  I  stopped  saying  it  could  not  be 
true.  I  said  nothing  more  about  it,  but  waited 
for  D  R  to  tell  me  more. 

While  George  had  carried  me,  weak  and 
unprotesting,  up  to  my  room,  they  had  put 
Marjorie  into  an  automobile  and  rushed  with 
her  to  the  hospital,  but  all  their  attempts  to 
revive  her  had  been  fruitless.  She  was  quite 
dead  when  they  first  came  upon  her  in  the 
conservatory. 

"  Now,"  said  D  R,  after  he  had  told  me 
that,  "  do  you  remember  anything  about  what 
you  saw  last  night — after  you  went  into  the 
conservatory?  " 

"  Nothing,"  I  said,  my  voice  hesitant  and 
thin. 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  79 

"  What  is  the  first  thing  you  do  remember?  " 
he  continued. 

"  Why,"  I  answered,  making  a  great  at 
tempt  to  keep  the  tremor  out  of  my  voice, 
"  just  a  little  while  ago  when  I  knew  you  were 
standing  over  me,  and 

"  Nothing  before  that? "  he  interrupted 
sharply. 

"  Nothing." 

He  studied  me  intently  a  few  seconds,  and 
I  saw  that  he  was  very  sorry  for  me.  But  he 
believed  me,  knew  I  was  not  deceiving  him. 

'  Then  you  must  be  brave,"  he  cautioned 
me.  "  I  told  you  I  would  give  you  the  full 
account  of  what  has  happened.  It  is  due  you. 
More  than  that,  it  is  necessary  for — for  all  of 
us." 

"  Tell  me,  D  R,"  I  begged.  "  Anything  is 
better  for  me  than  suspense." 

"  Last  night,"  he  began,  while  he  paced 
slowly  up  and  down  in  front  of  me,  "  after  the 
police  had  been  notified,  it  was  discovered  that 
Corcoran  had  disappeared.  In  spite  of  the 
most  thorough  search,  no  clue  whatever  to  his 
whereabouts  was  revealed.  The  police  were 
at  sea — until  eight  o'clock  this  morning,  when 
Corcoran,  wearing  a  cap  and  a  long  raincoat 
over  his  evening  clothes,  was  recognized  by  an 


80  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

officer  at  the  corner  of  Thirteenth  and  G 
Streets.  He  was  on  horseback,  and  the  horse 
had  been  ridden  cruelly  hard.  Corcoran  had 
been  drinking,  was  intoxicated. 

"  But  he  offered  no  objection  when  the 
policeman  told  him  he  was  wanted  at  head 
quarters.  He  slipped  off  the  horse,  called  a 
boy,  and  paid  him  to  return  it  to  the  stable, 
and  went  with  the  officer.  At  headquarters 
Major  Palmer,  chief  of  police,  was  about  to 
start  for  this  house.  In  the  hope  of  incrimi 
nating  Corcoran,  who  denied  any  responsi 
bility  for  the — the  crime,  Palmer  brought  him 
here. 

"  When  they  arrived,  I  had  just  come  down 
from  your  room  and  had  left  you  resting 
quietly.  You  were  awake,  apparently  fully 
conscious,  but  you  did  need  rest.  I  had  in 
structed  Miss  Keyes,  the  nurse  I  called  in  last 
night,  to  see  that  you  were  undisturbed. 

"  Palmer  took  me  aside  and  asked  me  to  talk 
to  Corcoran  with  a  view  to  finding  out  what  he 
knew  about  the  events  of  last  night.  At  first, 
I  refused.  I've  helped  Palmer  in  the  past  a 
good  many  times,  but  it  always  was  with  the 
hope  of  saving  innocent  men  from  punishment. 
This  time  he  wanted  me  to  fasten  guilt  upon  a 
suspected  man.  However,  when  I  had  thought 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  81 

it  over  and  remembered  how  closely  all  this 
affected  you,  I  consented.  You  see,  I  felt  the 
advisability  of  clearing  up  the  whole  matter  as 
soon  as  possible." 

D  R  was  better  equipped  for  the  talk  with 
Charlie  than  Chief  Palmer  knew.  He  told  me 
why.  Early  last  evening  he  and  Charlie  had 
engaged  in  a  verbal  fencing  duel  and  had  just 
come  to  the  end  of  it  when  I,  looking  for  D  R, 
encountered  the  two  standing  at  the  table  in 
the  library. 

D  R  had  strayed  in  there  for  a  smoke  ten 
minutes  before  I  found  him,  and  was  standing 
before  one  of  the  bookcases  near  the  conserva 
tory  door  when  Charlie,  evidently  agitated  and 
distressed,  came  in  without  seeing  him.  Still 
without  noticing  D  R,  who  had  turned  quietly 
to  look  at  him,  Charlie  went  to  the  reading 
table  and  got  a  cigarette.  Without  lighting 
it,  he  stood  balancing  himself  first  on  his  heels 
and  then  on  the  balls  of  his  feet  while  he  sang, 
unconscious  of  what  he  was  doing,  the  words 
of  the  old  song: 

"  After  the  ball  is  over,  after  the  break  of  dawn ; 
After  the  dancers'  leaving,  after  the  stars  are  gone, 
Many  the  hearts  that  are  broken  if  you  could  read 

them  all, 
Many  the  hopes  that  have  vanished  after  the  ball ! " 


82  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

He  lit  his  cigarette,  tossing  down  the  match 
with  an  impatient  gesture,  and  stood  looking 
toward  the  wall  farthest  from  D  R.  His  eyes 
were  caught  by  the  picture  of  Paola  and 
Francesca  which  hangs  between  the  window 
and  the  hall  door.  He  inhaled  and  blew  out 
a  cloud  of  smoke  and  stood  gazing  at  the 
picture,  his  back  to  D  R,  his  thumbs  thrust 
into  his  trousers  pockets.  He  fell  to  humming 
the  old  song  again.  D  R  replaced  the  book  on 
its  shelf,  the  noise  attracting  Charlie's  atten 
tion,  so  that  he  wheeled  about  with  an  expres 
sion  of  annoyance  on  his  face. 

"  Hello! "  D  R  greeted  him,  and  went  to 
ward  the  table. 

"  I  didn't  see  you,"  said  Charlie,  coming  for 
ward  to  shake  hands.  They  faced  each  other 
across  the  table. 

"  So  it's  as  bad  as  that? "  queried  D  R, 
smiling. 

"  What's  as  bad  as  that? "  Charlie  asked  a 
little  sharply. 

'  The  tragedy  of  your  unrequited  love," 
D  R  laughed  at  him.  "  Why,  it's  great  enough 
to  interfere  with  your  vision.  You  didn't  see 
me  when  you  came  in." 

Charlie  ground  his  cigarette  into  the  ash 
tray. 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  S3 

"So  everybody  knows  it!"  he  exclaimed 
angrily. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  so." 

"  Then  how  did  you  know  it?  " 

His  anger  was  real  and  evident. 

"  My  dear  Corcoran,"  D  R  half  jested, 
"  you've  just  confessed  it  to  me.  You're  like 
all  other  people.  In  the  songs  they  sing  and 
the  gestures  they  make  and  the  words  that  they 
think  are  trifles,  they  convert  each  minute  of 
their  lives  into  a  demonstration  of  what  they 
have  thought  or  done  or  what  has  been  done  to 
them.  They  do  it  in  slips  of  the  tongue  even." 
He  laughed  at  Charlie's  irritation.  "  And  I 
happen  to  be  one  of  those  whose  business  it  is 
to  read  the  demonstrations." 

Charlie  turned  and  paced  the  length  of  the 
room  and  back. 

"  Now,  honestly,  Doctor,"  he  urged  impa 
tiently,  "  how  the  thunder  did  you  know  about 
it? " 

1  You  forced  it  into  my  consciousness.  A 
young  man  comes  into  a  room,  the  picture  of 
grief.  He  thinks  he  is  alone.  All  his  real 
emotions  of  the  moment  come  to  the  surface. 
He  hums  disconsolately  a  song  that  was  pop 
ular  in  his  boyhood — boyhood  being  an  ex 
tremely  impressionable  age — about  the  hearts 


84  MBS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

that  are  broken.  Then  he  loses  himself  in 
revery  before  the  picture  of  the  most  famous 
love  tragedy  in  history.  What  could  be 
simpler? " 

"  Oh,  the  dickens!"  exclaimed  Charlie,  and 
grinned.  '  You  scientists,  Doctor,  know  so 
much  that  you  get  queer  ideas.  The  thing  I 
was  worrying  about  was  the  punch.  It  has  no 
punch." 

And  just  then  I  had  hurried  in  to  scold  D  R 
for  not  entertaining  my  guests.  But  his  little 
feat  of  mind- reading  had  given  him  informa 
tion  which  was  valuable  this  morning  as  he  sat 
in  my  front  parlor,  with  the  doors  closed,  and 
waited  for  the  chief  of  police  to  send  Charlie 
to  him. 

As  he  told  me  of  the  interview,  my  brain,  it 
seemed  to  me,  worked  magically.  I  could  see, 
as  if  it  existed  visibly  before  me,  each  scene, 
every  gesture  in  that  colloquy  between  them. 
I  could  hear  every  word.  I  lost  sight  of  the 
library  and,  while  D  R  talked,  watched  with 
careful  and  breathless  intensity  every  change 
of  expression,  every  little  move,  made  by  each 
one.  I  am  astonished  now  that,  in  my  over 
wrought  condition,  every  word  he  uttered 
made  such  a  tremendous  impression  on  me. 

When   Charlie   came   into   the   parlor   and 


MBS.  MABDEN'S  OEDEAL  85 

slammed  the  door  noisily  behind  him,  D  R  was 
seated  near  the  big  bay  window,  with  his  back 
to  it,  so  that  the  light  fell  full  upon  Charlie  all 
the  time.  For  a  little  while,  he  stood  in  the 
center  of  the  room,  and,  without  speaking, 
looked  smilingly  at  D  R.  The  cap  he  had 
worn  was  crushed  into  the  pocket  of  his  rain 
coat,  which  hung  open,  disclosing  his  evening 
clothes.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  he  still  was 
under  the  influence  of  drink,  and,  although  he 
was  steady  on  his  feet,  his  disheveled  hair,  his 
flaming  eyes,  and  his  unnaturally  good-natured 
smile  made  him  a  curious  figure. 

"  Corcoran,"  D  R  said  kindly,  "  how  are 
you  feeling? " 

Throwing  back  the  raincoat,  Charlie  thrust 
his  hands  into  his  trousers  pockets  and  giggled. 

"  I'm  a  dead  loss,  Doctor,"  he  said,  "  if  I 
don't  believe  somebody's  going  to  suspect  me 
of " 

He  became  suddenly  serious,  and  added, 
"  Of  this  awful  thing." 

"  I  want  to  help  you,"  D  R  said. 

It  was  as  if  he  held  out  a  helping  hand  to 
the  accused  man. 

"  Sit  down." 

"No;  I'll  stand,"  his  tone  became  slightly 
aggressive.  "  Say!  What  is  this?" 


86  MES.  MAKDEN'S  OBDEAL 

"  Didn't  Palmer  tell  you  I  wanted  to  talk 
to  you? " 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  answered  carelessly;  "but 
you  look  so  damned  solemn." 

He  took  a  cigarette  and  a  match  from  a 
pocket  of  his  raincoat,  and  began  to  smoke. 

"  It's  rather  a  solemn  thing,  isn't  it?  "  D  R 
returned  impressively. 

"  Of  course,  it  is,  Doctor,"  he  answered, 
sobering  momentarily. 

D  R  looked  at  him  a  long  time,  and  said  to 
him  with  all  the  earnestness  of  which  he  was 
capable,  "  You  must  understand  that  I  want 
to  help  you." 

Charlie  eyed  him  with  owl-like  solemnity, 
and  laughed. 

"  So!  It's  to  be  one  of  those  celebrated 
duels  of  wit! " 

He  consumed  more  time  than  was  necessary 
in  inhaling  a  volume  of  smoke. 

"  Rather,  it's  to  be  a  duel  between  wit  and 
whiskey.  Go  to  it!  I'm  ready." 

He  had  a  meaningless  look  in  his  eyes, 
the  beginnings  of  a  foolish  smile  upon  his 
lips. 

"  Corcoran,"  D  R  said  with  swift  directness, 
"  did  you  kill  Marjorie  Nesbit?  " 

The  smile  faded  from  Charlie's  lips,  and  his 


MBS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  87 

eyes  became  at  once  expressive  of  intelligence, 
alertness. 

"  I  did  not,"  he  said  evenly.  "  I  swear  I 
didn't.  Why,  you  found  out  yourself  last 
night  I  loved  her!  How's  it  possible  for  a 
man  to  kill  the  woman  he  loves?  " 

"  It  has  been  done,"  D  R  answered  him 
quietly. 

Charlie's  drunken  boredom  returned. 

'You  don't  say  so!"  he  commented  care 
lessly. 

"  In  the  conservatory  last  night,"  D  R  con 
tinued  the  attack,  "  did  Marjorie  Nesbit  please 
you  or  displease  you? " 

Charlie  looked  at  him  warily. 

'Why  do  you  hesitate?  Tell  me;  what 
had  Marjorie  Nesbit  said  to  you  or  done  to 
you?" 

"  Nothing." 

But  for  his  burning  eyes,  he  might  have  been 
discussing  the  latest  scandal  at  an  afternoon 
tea. 

'  That's  impossible,"  the  inquisition  con 
tinued.  "  She  had  refused  you  twenty-four 
hours  before.  You  were  with  4ier  alone,  first 
in  the  library,  and  then  in  the  conservatory. 
Now,  I  ask  you:  did  she  please  you  or  displease 
you?" 


88  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

Charlie  tossed  away  his  cigarette,  put  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  and  regarded  his  ques 
tioner  gravely. 

"  Well,"  he  replied,  "  I'll  tell  you  the  truth." 

He  hesitated,  and  asked  sharply,  '  You 
wouldn't  repeat  anything  that  reflected  on  a 
woman,  would  you? " 

"  That's  an  unnecessary  question." 

"Well,  then,"  Charlie  said  with  half- 
drunken  earnestness,  "  I'll  tell  you,  Doctor. 
I'd  just  found  out  that  she  was  not  the  sort  of 
woman  I  had  thought  her.  I'd  been  in  love 
with  her.  To  me  she  had  been  everything 
adorable.  And  then,  in  one  look  from  her 
eyes,  I  found  that  she — oh,  well,  she  was  no 
better  than  another  sort  of  woman." 

"  So,  in  that  instant,  to  all  intents  and  pur 
poses,  the  woman  you  had  loved  died?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  agreed  mechanically. 

"  And  then  you  went  with  her  into  the  con 
servatory?  " 

"  Yes." 

D  R  put  the  ring  of  command  into  his  next 
question. 

"  What  did  you  do?  " 

Charlie  smiled  brazenly. 

:'  I  kissed  her,  of  course. — Why  not?  " 

"  And  then?  " 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  89 

Charlie  lit  another  cigarette. 

"  She  wanted  an  ice,"  he  explained. 
"  That's  the  truth.  She  wanted  an  ice,  and  I 
went  down  the  steps  into  the  garden  and  across 
to  the  dining  room  to  get  it  for  her.  I  left  her 
alone,  back  there  in  the  conservatory,  under 
the  roses.  My  God!"  he  added,  as  if  the 
thought  appalled  him:  "  A  woman  like  that 
under  the  roses !  " 

D  R  disregarded  his  evident  disgust. 

"  But  you  never  got  her  the  ice? " 

"  No,"  he  answered  reluctantly,  "  I  didn't." 

"  Why  didn't  you? "  The  question  came 
imperiously. 

Charlie  threw  away  the  half -smoked  ciga 
rette  and  went  over  and  sat  down  on  the  sofa. 
Before  he  spoke,  he  mopped  his  brow  with  his 
handkerchief.  He  looked  like  a  man  who, 
although  drunk,  feels  utter  weariness. 

'  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Doctor,  there 
were  so  many  other  people  there,  and  I  didn't 
feel  like  facing  them.  I  started  back,  and  I 
can't  explain  it,  but  it's  the  truth — out  there 
in  the  garden,  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  the  idea 
struck  me  that  something  had  happened  to  her. 
That's  why  I  ran  along  the  veranda  and  into 
the  library,  where  you  saw  me." 

D  R  looked  at  him  thoughtfully. 


90  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  Why  did  you  have  the  idea  that  something 
had  happened  to  her?  You  no  longer  loved 
her,  did  you? " 

"  Oh,"  Charlie  answered  with  a  sigh,  waving 
his  hands  as  if  the  discussion  were  futile,  "  I 
can't  explain  it." 

"  But  Mrs.  Marden  said,  when  she  came 
back  into  the  library, '  He's  gone  out.'  Do  you 
know  whether  she  saw  you  leave  the  conserva 
tory?" 

"No;  I  don't." 

"  Corcoran,"  D  R  demanded,  "  have  you 
told  me  the  truth  about  this?  " 

"  Absolutely,  Doctor." 

"  I  never  heard  a  man  break  up  so  many 
sentences  to  say  he  was  telling  the  truth." 

Charlie  laughed  vacantly.  He  looked 
wearily  at  D  R  arid,  sighing  like  a  man  who 
yearns  for  rest,  threw  himself  flat  on  his  back 
on  the  sofa,  his  head  on  a  pillow,  his  knees 
crossed  at  a  high  angle  in  the  air,  his  right  foot 
dangling  nervously.  His  gaze  was  straight 
toward  the  ceiling. 

"  I've  evolved  a  new  theory  about  women, 
Doctor,"  he  said  petulantly,  speaking  straight 
up  into  the  air.  "  None  of  them  will  ever  get 
into  me  again.  They're  all  alike — all  exactly 
alike.  The  same  white  arms — same  lovely 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  91 

hair — same  sweet,  lying  mouths. — Give  us  a 
cigarette,  will  you? " 

D  R  handed  him  a  cigarette  and,  striking  a 
match,  held  the  flame  out  for  him. 

"Thanks!" 

D  R  stood  and  watched  him  intently.  Lying 
on  the  couch,  one  end  of  the  raincoat  trailing 
on  the  floor,  his  evening  clothes  disarranged, 
his  face  heated  with  the  flush  of  semi-intoxica 
tion,  he  talked  on. 

"  They  won't  do,  Doctor.  None  of  them 
will  ever  get  into  me  again.  Give  one  of 
them  a  piece  of  your  soul,  and  you're 
gone ! " 

He  devoted  his  attention  to  the  cigarette. 

"  How  about  Marjorie?  "  D  R  tempted  him 
to  talk  more. 

"My  God!"  he  said,  repugnance  in  his 
voice.  '  White  arms,  lovely  hair,  sweet 
mouth — sweet,  lying  mouth — like  all  the  rest. 
And  she  could  kiss  you  as  if " 

He  paused  to  assume  a  philosophical  air. 

"  However,  let  the  dead  bury  their  dead. 
Dead  kisses  are  so  very  dead!  "  He  laughed 
unpleasantly.  "  You  think  I  killed  her,  don't 
you?  But  you  can't  prove  it,  can  you?  "  He 
chuckled.  "  Fortunately,  or  unfortunately,  I 
went  after  that  ice  for  her.  And  fortunately, 


92  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

or  unfortunately,  the  only  witness  of  what  I 
did  or  didn't  do  is  gone.  She — he — I've  seen 
— I  know  that." 

He  drew  a  long  breath  and  moved  his  foot 
rapidly  up  and  down.  D  R  waited  for  him  to 
continue.  '^, 

"  All  the  town  thinks  I  killed  her.  That's 
very  unpleasant,  isn't  it?  And  nobody  in  the 
town  can  prove  it.  That's  more  pleasant, 
isn't  it?  " 

He  chuckled  again. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  speculated  in  grotesque 
solemnity,  "  whether  anybody  has  tried  to  fig 
ure  out  whether  she  killed  herself." 

"  But  she  was  choked  to  death,"  D  R  re 
minded  him. 

He  lay  silent  several  moments  after  that,  his 
eyes  closed,  the  lids  quivering.  Suddenly,  as 
quickly  as  he  had  flung  himself  down,  he 
sprang  to  a  sitting  posture  and,  looking  D  R 
in  the  eye,  laughed. 

"  But  you  don't  seem  to  want  to  talk  to 
me ! "  He  shook  his  finger  reprovingly. 
"  You  wise  old  bird!  You  figure  things  out 
of  songs  and  pictures !  Tell  me,  did  I  do  that 
thing? — Of  course,  I  didn't."  He  clapped 
the  cap  on  the  back  of  his  head.  "  I'd  be  a 
fine  young  fool  to  risk  my  neck  for  the  same 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  93 

white  arms  and  all  the  rest  of  it — now, 
wouldn't  I? 

"  Well,"  he  concluded  airily,  "  I'm  glad  this 
talk's  over.  For  the  love  of  a  sweet  heaven, 
Doctor,  lay  off  of  me  on  these  duels  of 
wits.  This  one's  been  enough. — Say!  Will 
you?" 

He  started  toward  the  door  and  staggered 
badly  once. 

"  Corcoran ! "  D  R  called  to  him  authori 
tatively. 

He  turned  and  stood  still,  a  grin  on  his  lips. 

'  You  said  the  only  witness  of  what  hap 
pened  last  night  was  gone." 

"  I  said  no  such  thing!  "  he  snarled,  showing 
fight  for  the  first  time.  "Damn  you!  Don't 
try  to  put  things  into  my  mouth." 

"  But  you  certainly  said  it." 

He  recovered  himself  instantly  and  looked 
at  D  R  with  a  smile  half-childish  and  half-silly. 

"  Oh,  did  I?  I  see  what  you  mean.  I  re 
ferred  to  Marjorie,  of  course.  She's  gone, 
isn't  she? " 

"  But  you  started  to  say  something  about 
'  he.'  " 

Charlie  flung  open  the  door  with  a  flourish 
and  bowed  deeply. 

"Did  I?    No!     I  said  'she.'     You  know, 


94  MES.  MAEDESPS  OEDEAL 

when  a  man's  drinking,  he  drops  his  s's — his  s's 
and  his  essence  of  shame." 

Without  waiting  for  D  R's  reply,  he  went 
out,  slamming  the  door  after  he  had  lunged 
heavily  against  it. 

"  To  save  my  life,"  D  R  reported  to  the 
chief  of  police,  "  I  can't  tell  you  whether  he's 
guilty  or  innocent." 


CHAPTER  X 

PALMER,  however,  was  not  sat- 
isfied  with  this  indefinite  report  and  set 
out  to  secure  more  evidence  by  thoroughly 
searching  the  house  and  by  questioning  the 
servants.  And,  while  that  went  on,  D  R,  who 
had  given  up  all  idea  of  attending  to  his  own 
affairs  for  the  time  being,  was  talking  to 
George,  reassuring  him,  explaining  that  the 
nervous  shock  of  everything  that  had  happened 
to  me  would  result  in  no  permanent  injury  to 
me  in  any  way. 

In  the  meantime,  actuated  by  the  physical 
nervousness  which  had  kept  me  awake  through 
practically  all  the  night,  I  had  gone  down  to 
the  library.  It  was  there  that  Charlie  Corco 
ran  found  me  after  his  talk  with  D  R. 

He  came  upon  me  before  he  knew  it,  and, 
when  he  saw  me,  stood  startled,  his  cap  clutched 
in  his  right  hand,  his  graceful,  youthful  figure 
swaying  back  and  forth  a  little.  I  sank  into  a 
morris  chair,  the  same  chair  that  Marjorie  oc 
cupied  last  night.  I  did  not  seem  surprised  to 


96  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

see  him.  Without  noting  particularly  the 
vast  anxiety  in  his  eyes,  I  accepted  his  presence 
there  as  quite  the  usual  thing. 

"Ruth — you!"  he  said  in  a  low,  strained 
voice. 

Unaccountably,  I  was  suddenly  very  tired, 
and  I  did  not  answer  him. 

The  hand  with  which  he  held  his  cap  was 
pressed  hard  against  his  breast. 

"  I  thought — thought  you  were  ill,"  he  said, 
his  voice  still  colored  by  alarm.  "  I  didn't 
think — I  wasn't  trying  to  hunt  you  up,  you 
know." 

I  smiled  weakly,  although  I  was  not  looking 
at  him. 

"  Were  you  afraid,  Charlie?  " 

He  came  to  my  side,  standing  between  me 
and  the  heavy  hangings  drawn  across  the  con 
servatory  door — so  that  he  might  engage  my 
glance. 

"  Afraid  of  what?  "  he  inquired  hastily. 

I  gave  him  a  long,  level  look. 

"  My  telling,"  I  answered  him  directly,  my 
voice  clear  in  spite  of  its  weakness. 

What  I  said  made  him  wince. 

"Telling  what,  Ruth?" 

"  What  I  saw  last  night." 

He  held  the  cap  in  front  of  him  now  in 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  97 

both  hands  and  studied  the  visor  of  it  in 
tently. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  sympathized,  "  awfully 
sorry  you're  so  knocked  out — honestly." 

He  continued  to  stare  at  the  visor  of  the  cap 
while  I  looked  at  him. 

He  did  not  glance  toward  me  as  he  added: 
"  And,  of  course,  you  wouldn't  say  anything — 
to  anybody."  He  flipped  the  visor  nervously 
with  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand.  "  I 
wouldn't  advise  it,  now,  at  any  rate — would 
you?" 

There  fell  a  pause,  broken  only  by  the  rap 
ping  of  his  fingers  on  the  stiff  visor. 

"  Are  all  the  doors  closed? "  I  asked. 

He  looked  around. 

'  Yes,  all,"  he  answered. 

He  hung  on  the  thin  edge  of  suspense. 

'  You  wouldn't  say  anything  —  really  — • 
would  you,  Ruth — anything  at  all?  " 

His  pleading  amounted  to  a  command. 

"  I  ought  to,"  I  said  flatly. 

At  last  his  alarm  was  unconcealed. 

"  Ought  to !  "  he  exclaimed. 

He  thrust  his  cap  back  into  the  pocket  of  the 
raincoat. 

I  sighed  and  looked  at  him  again  a  long 
time. 


98  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  But  I  won't." 

"Ah-h-h!"  his  exclamation  was  all  grati 
tude. 

Swaying  a  little,  he  stood  and  watched  me 
narrowly.  There  was  a  line  between  his  eye 
brows,  and  his  jaws  were  hard-set. 

"  Charlie,"  I  elaborated,  "  I'm  not  going  to 
say  anything — to  anybody." 

"  I  see,"  he  said.     "  That's  fine— very." 

"  I  think  that's  all,"  I  dismissed  him. 

He  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  Goodby,  Ruth,"  he  said  in  almost  a 
whisper. 

He  had  taken  one  step  away  from  me  when, 
as  if  animated  anew,  I  sat  bolt  upright  in  the 
chair. 

"  No!  It  isn't  all!"  I  said,  speaking  in  a 
stronger,  disagreeable  voice. 

He  returned  to  my  side. 

"  What's  the  use  of  my  lying  about  it — pre 
tending  I'll  keep  my  mouth  shut  from  chari 
table  motives,  because  of  mercy?  I'm  not  do 
ing  it  to  save  you!  " 

He  looked  about  him  wildly. 

"  I'll  be  honest  with  you."  My  voice  shrilled 
weakly.  "  I'm  glad — glad  you  killed  her!  " 

Charlie  uttered  a  cry  that  came  from  deep 
down  in  his  throat. 


MBS.  HARDEN' S  OEDEAL  99 

"  Don't !  Don't,  for  God's  sake,  say  that !  " 
he  begged  me. 

"  Why  not?  "  I  asked  coolly.  "  There's  no 
body  to  hear." 

I  paused  a  moment,  and  added,  "  I  want  to 
be  honest  with  you,  Charlie.  I  want  to  tell 
you  what  I  think,  because  I  can't  help  thinking 
it  now.  I  tell  you,  I'm  glad  she's  dead — 
glad-  -" 

He  took  one  of  my  hands  in  both  of  his  and 
urged   me   sternly,    "Don't   say   that   again! 
Don't  say  it,  Ruth.     Somebody  might  hear — 
might  come  in !     You  - 

I  laughed  without  merriment,  and  withdrew 
my  hand  from  his. 

"  But  I'm  not  going  to  tell,"  I  said.  "  I 
promise,  Charlie.  Wild  horses  couldn't  drag 
it  out  of  me.  She  ruined  my  life.  And  you 
did  me  a  favor — you  got  rid  of  her.  Ah,  don't 
you  see? " 

He  fell  back  a  step  or  two  until  he  was 
almost  against  the  hangings  of  the  conserva 
tory  door. 

"  I  had  wished  her  dead,  and,  when  I  saw 
you  choke  her — oh,  that  way  "  —I  raised  my 
hands  and  imitated  in  the  air  what  he  had 
done — "  I  knew  I  was  glad — glad  she  was 
dead.  I'm  glad  now!  " 


100  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

He  caught  my  hand  again  and  cried  out 
huskily,  "Don't!  Won't  you  keep  quiet? 
For  my  sake,  let  me  go!  " 

He  flung  out  his  left  arm  in  a  forbidding 
gesture,  and  his  hand  struck  the  hangings  over 
the  conservatory  door.  He  did  not  move  it. 
His  arm  stiffened,  like  an  inanimate  thing,  the 
hand  still  against  the  hangings.  Terror 
masked  his  face. 

"  What's  the  harm?  "  I  asked  in  weak  indif 
ference.  '  You  know  I'm  your  friend.  I 
won't  tell." 

"Good  God!    You  have  told!" 

As  he  said  that,  he  dragged  the  heavy  hang 
ings  to  the  floor,  disclosing  Palmer,  who  had 
stood  between  the  curtains  and  the  door. 
Palmer  kicked  away  the  hangings  piled  about 
his  feet,  and  put  his  hand  on  Charlie's  shoulder. 

"  I  guess  that's  enough  for  today,"  said  the 
chief  of  police. 

"Damn  you!"  said  Charlie,  mechanically 
buttoning  his  raincoat,  and  added,  "  Let's  go." 

A  few  minutes  later  D  R,  having  got  a 
description  from  Chief  Palmer  of  this  scene 
between  Charlie  and  me,  hurried  into  the  li 
brary.  He  found  me  leaning  back  in  the  chair, 
a  smile  on  my  tired  face,  as  if  I  slept. 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  101 

When  he  bent  over  me,  I  opened  my  eyes 
and  looked  up  at  him — and  knew  where  I  was, 
knew  that  I  was  real,  alive. 

"  Ruth,"  he  said  firmly,  "  tell  me — what  are 
you  doing  here? " 

Involuntarily,  I  listened  for  the  dance  mu 
sic.  Then  I  was  conscious  of  the  daylight. 

'  Why — why,  I  don't — what  is  the  matter, 
D  R?  "  I  asked. 

And  then  I  was  terribly  frightened  without 
in  the  least  knowing  why. 


CHAPTER  XI 

AFTER  D  R  had  told  me— just  as  I  have 
written  it  down  here — everything  I  did 
and  everything  that  happened  during  my  state 
of  unconsciousness,  my  dominant  emotion  was 
terror  caused  by  the  memory  of  my  own  suf 
fering,  all  that  I  had  suffered,  and  all  that  I 
would  go  on  suffering.  I  was  not  even  par 
ticularly  struck  by  the  tragic  way  in  which 
Charlie  had  walked  into  Chief  Palmer's  trap 
and  met  betrayal  at  my  hands. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry  for  myself,  D  R!"  I 
said,  with  a  moan.  "  I  should  be  weeping  over 
Marjorie  and  Charlie.  I  should  be  weeping 
because  of  what  I've  done  to  Charlie.  But  I 
don't  at  all— I  can't!" 

"  Why  are  you  so  sorry  for  yourself?  " 

He  was  all  tenderness. 

"  I  suffer  so." 

"  How? " 

"  I'm  afraid — so  afraid !  It  isn't  my  body 
that  suffers.  It's  my  heart — and  my  head.  I 
don't  think  things  as  I  should,  D  R.  Really, 


MRS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  103 

I  don't.  It  isn't  only  about  Marjorie  and 
Charlie.  It's  about  lots  of  things.  My 
thoughts  torture  me  so!  " 

"  For  a  year  you  have  felt  this  way,  haven't 
you?  "  he  asked  gently. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  knew  it — and  you  wouldn't  come  to  me 
for  help." 

"  I  was  afraid — afraid  to  tell  anybody  how  I 
felt,  what  I  thought— such  thoughts,  D  R!" 

"  And  now? " 

"  Now  I  will  do  anything,  tell  anything — if 
you  can  help  me !  If  you  don't  help  me,  D  *R, 
I  shall  go  insane.  Really,  I  shall." 

"  No,"  he  assured  me;  "  you  won't  do  that." 

"  I  know  now,"  I  sobbed,  "  what  they  mean 
when  they  talk  in  the  Bible  about  being  pos 
sessed  by  evil  spirits.  I  know  now!  " 

He  stopped  his  pacing  to  and  fro  a  moment 
and  looked  down  at  me  compassionately. 

"  Let  me  explain  just  what  your  trouble  is," 
he  suggested.  "  I  think  it  will  lead  to  ending 
all  your  pain  and  distress.  You  are,  of  course, 
a  neurotic.  One  is  neurotic  if  one  has  had  an 
ugly,  or  unbearable,  or  revolting  experience  in 
one's  childhood — something  that  one  could  not 
adjust  to  one's  ideals  and  one's  opinions  of 
how  things  should  be  and  people  should  act. 


104  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

If  one's  childhood  is  ever  wounded  in  this  way, 
it  means  that  one  is  handicapped  in  later  life  in 
meeting  any  trying  event  or  great  disappoint 
ment  or  devastating  sorrow.  One's  moral 
strength  is  cut  down  tremendously,  and,  when 
the  strain  of  untoward  events  comes,  one  is  apt 
to  break  down.  That  is  what  has  happened 
to  you." 

"  And  you  can  help  me  in  that!  " 

I  was  frankly  incredulous,  disappointed. 
I  could  remember  no  such  event  in  my  youth 
as  he  described. 

"  If  you  will  let  me,"  he  said.  "  We  must 
work  together  in  order  to  find  out  every  small 
est  thing,  as  well  as  every  biggest  thing,  that 
has  made  it  possible  for  you  to  suffer  so,  every 
thing  in  your  adult  years  and  everything  in 
your  childhood.  There  are  bothering  you  so 
many  things  which  you,  of  yourself  and  un 
aided,  do  not  and  can  not  recall  now  in  any 
way." 

Then  he  explained  to  me  how  I  would  have 
to  tell  him  all  my  thoughts  and  aspirations,  my 
entire  view  of  life  and  its  problems. 

'  We  shall  embark  upon  the  sea  of 
memory,"  he  said,  with  his  reassuring  smile, 
after  my  promise  to  tell  him  everything,  "  our 
minds  made  up  that  we  shall  not  be  dismayed 


MRS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  105 

by  anything  we  may  discover  during  our  voy 
age." 

"  And  if  we  do  this,"  I  asked,  "  shall  I  be 
able  to  recall  everything  that  happened  to  me 
last  night  and  this  morning?  " 

"  I  believe  so — I'm  quite  sure  of  it,"  he  said. 
"  This  analysis  of  your  soul,  psychoanalysis,  is 
intended  to  bring  back  to  your  conscious  mind 
all  the  troubling,  harassing  things  you  can't 
remember.  Once  they  are  brought  back,  you 
can  deal  with  them  effectively. — Yes.  There 
is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  recover  your 
memory  of  the  events  of  last  night." 

He  looked  at  me  with  his  keen,  kindly 
glance. 

'  Why  are  you  so  anxious  to  do  that?  " 

"  Because  I  don't  believe  Charlie  killed 
Marjorie,"  I  said  emphatically;  "  and  I  want 
to  find  out  how  and  why  I  ever  accused  him  of 
such  a  crime." 

'  Why  don't  you  believe  he  killed  her?  " 

D  R's  questions  are  so  direct  and  compel 
ling! 

"  I  can't  explain  it — except  that  I  know  him 
so  well;  and  what  I  know  of  him  counterbal 
ances  anything  I  may  have  said  while  I  was 
not  responsible  for  my  acts  or  words." 

He  walked  the  length  of  the  room  with- 


106  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

out  speaking.  Another  thought  frightened 
me. 

"  I  shall  have  to  testify  about  it,  I  suppose." 

"  Don't  worry  about  that  now,"  he  advised. 
"  I  have  arranged  it  so  that  you  will  not  be 
called  for  the  inquest.  Wait  until  an  indict 
ment  is  returned  and  the  trial  date  is  set." 

"And  then?" 

'  Tell  the  truth — you  remember  nothing. 
So  far  as  you  can  recall,  you  saw  nobody  in 
the  conservatory,  and  you  said  nothing  to  Cor 
coran  here  this  morning." 

D  R  is  so  comforting.  I  can  not  put  it  into 
words,  but  his  very  presence  breathes  comfort. 
He  lives  so  entirely  according  to  his  simple 
creed,  which  is  that  trouble  comes  fast  enough 
and  that  the  bravest  thing  any  of  us  can  do  is 
to  meet  it  squarely,  face  to  face,  when  it  does 
come. 

"  How  long,"  I  asked,  "  will  your — your 
treatment  of  me  last?  " 

"  It  generally  is  rather  long,"  he  answered. 
"  I  shall  not  try  to  deceive  you  about  it,  Ruth. 
Sometimes  it  takes  months,  sometimes  weeks. 
We  can  work  hard  and  do  our  best — that  is 
all." 

After  that,  he  would  not  let  me  talk  any 
more,  but  made  me  come  up  to  my  room,  in- 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  107 

sisting  that  I  was  worn  out,  exhausted,  in 
reality  ill.  In  that,  he  was  mistaken.  I  feel 
incredibly  strong,  have  felt  so  all  day  and  all 
night — it  is  midnight  now,  and  I  have  been 
writing  with  feverish  energy  for  nearly  eleven 
hours ! 

It  did  not  even  upset  me  when  George  came 
up  here  to  my  room  a  few  minutes  after  I  had 
left  D  R.  My  feeling  toward  him  was  instinc 
tive  antagonism,  and  I  resented  with  peculiar 
intensity  his  assumption,  all  too  evident  in  his 

Jl 

expression,  that  he  could  be  of  genuine  comfort 
to  me  in  this  difficulty,  this  crisis.  There  had 
been  so  many  other  difficulties  when  he  had  not 
even  attempted  to  sympathize  with  me!  And 
since,  in  the  treachery  of  his  self-interest,  he 
had  failed  me  so  often  and  had  built  up  within 
me  the  habit  of  not  trusting  to  him  for  help, 
how  could  he  think  I  would  need  him  now, 
merely  because  this  was  something  which 
affected  him  and  the  publicly  known  events  in 
his  home? 

That  was  what  threaded  my  thoughts,  as  he 
stood  before  me :  how  his  self-interest  had  made 
him  traitor  to  me!  There  can  be  no  middle 
ground,  no  neutrality,  in  marriage.  One  lives 
with  a  man  and  grows  each  day  closer  and 
closer  to  him,  or  one  lives  in  his  house  while 


108  MES.  HARDEN' S  OEDEAL 

one's  soul  withdraws  from  him  further  and 
further.  The  life  is  a  thing  of  strong,  warm 
sympathy,  the  warmth  making  everything 
beautiful,  or  it  is  a  thing  of  secret,  hot  rebel 
lion,  hidden  flames  that  shrivel  and  twist  and 
harden  one's  heart.  And  I  had  drawn  very 
far  away  from  George. 

It  was  due  to  his  self-interest  that  he  did  not 
appreciate  how  far  apart  we  were.  He  had 
made  the  distance  between  us  quite  wide  and 
impassable.  His  life  could  be  lived  right  now 
with  me  entirely  out  of  it,  and  he  would  feel 
no  inconvenience,  no  lack.  His  polo  with  the 
army  officers  from  Fort  Myer,  his  devotion  to 
bridge  at  the  club,  his  enthusiasm  over  golf,  his 
popularity  as  a  raconteur  and  entertainer  at 
stag  affairs — all  these  things,  with  his  business 
of  looking  after  his  property,  his  apartment 
houses,  his  dwelling  houses,  and  his  stocks,  have 
become  his  world,  a  world  in  which  I  figure  as 
an  individual  who  can  be  made  happy  and  kept 
as  an  ornament  for  his  house  by  the  mere  proc 
ess  of  his  writing  in  his  check  book! 

He  has  always  been  so  patently  self-suffi 
cient  in  an  emotional  way.  I  have  never  seen 
into  him,  never  known  what  went  on  further 
back  in  his  head  than  the  surface  of  his  eyes. 
For  three  years  I  was  continually  rushing  out 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  109 

to  him — he  never  came  to  meet  me.  I  was 
always  trying  to  translate  to  him  my  ideas  of 
what  a  home  should  be — he  always  refused  to 
be  translated.  I  sought  again  and  again  to 
show  him  as  plainly  as  I  could  what  I  needed 
in  little  things,  the  great  big  little  things,  inti 
mate  touches  and  words  and  thoughts — he  con 
sistently  failed  to  read  the  banners  flung  for 
ward  by  my  soul. 

Inevitably,  I  had  been  reduced  to  disap 
pointments,  secret  tears,  unspeakable  amaze 
ments,  hidden  wounds.  My  soul,  the  real  love 
part  of  me,  had  become  like  a  soldier  fighting 
to  the  last  against  terrific  odds,  wounded,  borne 
down,  dazed  by  a  multitude  of  blows,  strug 
gling  on,  and  yet  indifferent  to  pain  or  even 
death. 

That,  in  some  measure,  was  why,  when  he 
came  to  me  in  my  great  need,  he  might  as  well 
have  been  a  stranger,  was  in  fact  a  stranger 
who,  diverted  for  a  moment  by  the  shocking 
things  of  the  night  from  his  outside  routine  and 
his  little  "  amusements  "  with  the  Mrs.  Tarones 
of  his  life,  did  "  the  proper  thing  "  now  and 
offered  me  "  help."  It  was  with  a  conscious 
effort  that  I  kept  back  a  bitter  laugh. 

When  there  is  constraint  or  any  lack  of 
naturalness  between  husband  and  wife,  their 


110  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

dialogues  in  moments  of  stress  are  always 
either  absurd  or  absurdly  commonplace. 

He  closed  the  door  and  stood  a  few  steps 
from  me,  the  image  of  uncertainty.  Because 
he  was  so  little  used  to  vital  things  between  us, 
he  reminded  me  of  a  child  gasping  with  one 
foot  thrust  into  a  cold  bath. 

"  Are  you  well  enough  to  be  out  of  bed? " 
he  asked  at  last,  unconsciously  jingling  the 
keys  and  loose  coin  in  his  pocket. 

"  Quite,"  I  returned  icily,  and  sat  down 
near  the  window. 

"  I  thought — I  hoped  I  might  be  of  help," 
he  explained,  as  he  might  have  offered  assist 
ance  to  a  strange  woman  hurt  in  an  automobile 
accident. 

'  I  need  only  a  doctor's  help — D  R's,"  I 
said. 

He  came  nearer  and  tried  desperately  to 
force  some  kind  of  ardor  into  his  tone. 

"  Don't  you  need  a  husband's  help?  Don't 
you  need  my  love?  " 

I  turned  toward  him  impatiently. 

"  George,  for  heaven's  sake  don't  be  ridicu 
lous  !  D  R  is  going  to  help  me.  It  would  only 
bore  you  to  be  bothered  with  me  while  I'm  so — 
so  nervous  and  unstrung." 

"Bother  me  I" 


MRS.  HARDEN' S  ORDEAL  111 

"  You  know  it — quite  well." 

He  jingled  the  keys  again. 

"  Doyle  tells  me  you've  forgotten  having 
been  in  the  conservatory  last  night  and  having 
talked  to  Charlie  this  morning." 

"  I  have,"  I  said,  "  but  why  discuss  it? " 

"  It  does  seem  to  me,"  he  objected,  "  you 
and  I  ought  to  get  together  on  this  thing.  It's 
not  a  joke  exactly.  Murder  has  been  com 
mitted  in  this  house,  our  house.  We  must 
clear  it  up." 

"How?" 

"  Look  here,  Ruth,"  he  said  explosively, 
"  you  don't  think  you  can  get  Charlie  off,  do 
you?  You  can't  think  you  can  protect  him 
by  refusing  to  confide  in  me !  " 

'Why  should  I  want  to  protect  him?"  I 
retorted  indifferently. 

"  Then,  what's  the  matter?  " 

"  George,  leave  me,  will  you? "  I  dismissed 
him.  '  You  only  annoy  me  with  your  useless 
suppositions.  I  am  in  D  R's  hands.  There's 
only  one  thing  you  can  do  for  me — don't  bother 
me,  keep  away  from  me  for  days;  oh,"  I  ex 
claimed  with  momentary  vehemence,  "  for 
months ! " 

'  Very  well,"  he  agreed  instantly,  "  if  it's 
what  you  really  want." 


112  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  Exactly  what  I  want,"  I  said  in  sharp 
finality. 

That  ended  the  interview. 

After  he  had  gone,  I  could  not  help  think 
ing  of  all  the  tragic  grief  I  would  have  avoided 
if  only  he  had  been  different.  I  think  of  it 
now,  here  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  I,  a  tor 
tured  being  afraid  to  go  to  sleep  while  outside 
all  the  city  sleeps  as  if  nothing  at  all  had  ever 
happened  to  hurt  anybody  anywhere ! 

But  it  is  after  twelve  o'clock,  and  I  must  try 
to  sleep.  I  will  call  Miss  Keyes. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ONE  other  thing  I  must  set  down  here  be 
fore  I  sleep,  because  in  some  indistinct, 
half-felt  way  it  does  give  me  a  little  comfort. 
It  may  be  only  because  of  the  beauty  of  the 
words. 

When  D  R  was  talking  to  me  this  morn 
ing — yesterday  morning,  really — he  said: 

"  The  things  done  to  little  children  may 
make  them  in  later  years  commit  crimes  or 
regard  the  crimes  of  others  with  too  much 
charity. 

"  I  do  not  find  it  hard  to  believe  that  Bene 
dict  Arnold  was  a  traitor  because  in  his  child 
hood  he  heard,  through  some  half-open  door, 
his  father  saying  strange,  ugly  things  for 
money — or  that  Judas  bartered  away  his  soul 
because,  as  a  little  boy,  he  saw  his  own  mother 
sell  her  scarlet  lips  for  gold. 

'  When  you  are  a  child,  your  mind  is  a  clean 
tablet  ready  for  the  graver,  a  blank  canvas 
waiting  for  the  master  hand ;  and  the  beautiful 
picture  imprinted  upon  it  at  four  may  be  re- 


114  MES.  MAEDE^'S  OBDEAL 

produced  as  a  lovely  song  at  thirty — the  ugly 
scene  as  a  terrible  tragedy  at  forty." 

What  a  tremendous  theory  that  is!  But  it 
reminds  me  at  once  of  what  the  tramp  said  to 
Marjorie: 

"  All  my  past  is  on  my  back.  It  is  a  tre 
mendous  weight,  like  an  avalanche,  that  con 
tinually  thrusts  me  onward  and  downward 
to — what?  .  .  .  When  one  has  done  many 
things  and  thought  many  things,  one  is  no 
longer  free.  One  will  go  on.  .  .  ." 

Practically  the  same  thing,  the  identical 
idea,  from  a  tramp  educated  by  bitter  experi 
ence  and  from  a  scientist  voicing  the  teachings 
of  psychology  and  philosophy! 

But  it  is  a  tremendous  theory,  nevertheless. 
If  one  accepts  it  unreservedly,  one  is  tempted 
to  throw  up  one's  hands  and  deny  responsi 
bility  for  everything.  Perhaps,  that  is  why  it 
comforts  me  now — a  little.  It  is  a  great  idea 
and  dangerous!  But  all  big  ideas  concerning 
the  emotions  are  dangerous  to  us  women,  I 
think.  After  all,  aren't  we  merely  grown-up 
little  girls,  with  all  the  violent  likes  and  dis 
likes  of  little  girls? 

A  woman,  I  think,  can  never  be  conservative 
in  her  likes  and  dislikes.  She  never  entertains 
a  suspicion,  for  in  her  mind  a  suspicion  be- 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  115 

comes  overnight  a  fact — she  can  not  endure 
half-tones  in  either  thought  or  feeling.  Like 
wise,  she  can  not  think  another  person  merely 
tolerable — the  other  person  is  invariably  either 
to  be  welcomed  into  her  inner  circle  of  warm 
affection  or  to  be  thrust  into  the  outer  world 
of  cold  indifference.  We  women  rush  at 
things  or  flee  from  them.  We  never  stand 
between. 

But  D  R  has  told  me  he  will  explain  to  me, 
as  the  days  go  by,  how  my  childhood  inca 
pacitated  me  for  dealing  adequately  and  defi 
nitely  with  the  Mrs.  Tarones  and  the  Marjories 
of  my  life.  And,  in  doing  that,  he  is  to  put 
me  in  such  possession  of  myself  that  the  cloud 
which  hides  my  knowledge  of  what  happened 
there  in  the  conservatory  will  be  lifted. 

How  will  he  accomplish  all  this,  all  this  and 
the  greater  achievement  of  giving  me  peace  of 
mind,  courage,  happiness  even?  That  is  what 
I  ask  myself  repeatedly — how?  If  I  could 
only  understand!  He  will  begin  with  me  to 
morrow.  Tomorrow  there  are  to  be,  then,  two 
inquests,  one  over  the  body  of  Marjorie  Nesbit, 
one  over  the  soul  of  Ruth  Marden. 

And  some  day,  as  a  result  of  both  of  them,  I 
am  to  know  why  and  how  I  have  done  things 
which  have  resulted  in  Charlie's  going  to  prison 


116  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

and  my  husband's  being  estranged  from  me! 
Everything  is  so  mixed  and  ruined.  The  in- 
appropriateness,  the  incongruity  of  things,  a 
murder  committed  in  my  home — sensation, 
scandal,  horrible  publicity!  They  are  simply 
things  that  do  not  belong,  things  that  are  not 
done,  things  I  never  thought  could  touch  me  or 
any  of  the  people  I  know. 

How  can  D  R  save  for  me  anything  that  is 
worth  while  in  life?  I  wish  I  were  unable  to 
doubt,  but  I  do — terribly. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

LAST  night  was  wretched.  When  D  R 
told  me  I  was  exhausted  and  ill  from  what 
I  had  been  through,  he  was  right.  If  Miss 
Keyes  had  not  been  with  me,  I  do  not  know 
what  I  would  have  done.  I  was  so  nervous, 
so  perfectly  unable  to  hold  myself  together, 
that  at  last  she  gave  me  something  to  make  me 
sleep.  I  like  her  much — she  is  so  entirely  my 
ideal  of  what  a  nurse  should  be,  doing  only 
what  I  want  done  and  insisting  on  nothing  I 
dislike ! 

And  today  I  have  been  shown  the  path  lead 
ing  to  a  new  life — if  only  I  can  follow  it ! 

D  R  came  to  see  me  a  few  minutes  past  one 
o'clock,  and  I  received  him  up  here  in  my 
writing  room.  This  is  where  I  shall  see  him 
each  day.  It  is  quiet,  and  away  from  every 
thing,  and  the  comfortable  chairs,  the  open 
fire,  and  the  sense  of  it  all  being  my  own  per 
sonal  atmosphere  will  help  me  in  my  efforts 
to  do  the  things  he  wants  me  to  do. 

I  met  him  today  with  the  question  that  was 


118  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

uppermost  in  my  thoughts  last  night:  "  How 
are  you  going  to  help  me,  D  R — exactly  how?  " 

"  First,"  he  said,  "  you  must  tell  me  exactly 
how  you  have  suffered,  exactly  what  you  have 
suffered." 

I  began  to  tell  him,  and  immediately  discov 
ered  how  hard  it  was.  I  could  not  find  words 
that  would  express  suitably  or  satisfactorily 
what  I  had  endured,  what  I  am  enduring  now. 
It  is  surprising  how,  when  one  has  decided  to 
lay  bare  one's  soul  and  to  have  done  with  res 
ervations  and  ambiguities  and  the  pitiful  sub 
terfuges  one  has  been  accustomed  to  use  to 
soothe  one's  hurt  pride  or  to  hide  one's  faults — 
it  is  surprising  then  how  hard  it  is  to  put  things 
into  plain  language.  The  various  shades  of 
feeling,  the  high  colors  of  agony,  the  different 
degrees  of  pain,  although  they  may  be  felt  and 
realized  in  terms  of  tears,  elude  one's  powers 
of  description. 

"  For  a  year,"  I  said,  "  I've  suffered  un 
speakably.  I've  felt  a  mortification  for  which 
there  was  no  redress,  a  bitterness  I  was  afraid 
to  utter,  a  scorn  on  which  I  would  not  act,  a 
misery  for  which  I  wept  only  in  secret ;  a  wild, 
desperate  rage  which  I  tried  to  repress.  I 
have  wanted  to  die;  oh,  I've  longed  so  to  die. 

"  And  I  have  wanted  to  go  away.     I  don't 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  119 

mean  simply  to  leave  George.  I  have  wanted 
to  disappear  entirely,  never  to  see  again  any 
of  my  friends,  any  of  the  people  I  know.  I 
wished  to  lose  myself,  to  establish  a  new 
identity,  without  any  of  the  old  ties,  in  another 
part  of  the  world.  I  have  been  desperate. 
I've  felt  like  a  hunted  thing,  with  nowhere  to 
turn — miserable  day  and  night — oh,  so  miser 
able!" 

"  I  know — know  so  well,"  he  encouraged  me. 
"  Now,  try  to  be  more  specific.  Tell  me  the 
details,  can't  you?  " 

He  was  looking  at  me  with  infinite  under 
standing  in  his  eyes.  Somehow,  I  believed 
then  that  he  would  not  blame  me  for  anything 
I  could  tell  him.  He  had  only  the  desire  to 
help.  That  enabled  me  to  go  on. 

'  There  have  been  times  when  I  couldn't 
even  cry.  The  tears  wouldn't  come.  I  was 
so  unhappy  and  lonely,  and  yet  couldn't  cry. 
That  always  terrifies  me.  It  reminds  me  of 
the  man  in  Dante's  hell — the  one  whose  face 
had  been  encased  in  ice  so  that  he  might  never 
have  the  consolation  of  tears.  And  I've  been 
tortured  by  ideas.  I  mean  an  idea  would  come 
to  me,  and  I  couldn't  get  it  out  of  my  head. 
Sometimes  it  was  merely  foolish.  Sometimes 
it  was  painful.  Sometimes — oh,  D  R,  how 


120  MES.  MABDEN'S  OEDEAL 

can  I  say  it? — sometimes  it  was  disgusting, 
low,  perfectly  disgusting." 

"  I  know,"  he  said  again.  "  That  is  the 
agony  of  the  fixed  idea.  It  is  torturing." 

"  And  again  I've  felt  as  if  I  would  do  things 
in  spite  of  myself,  things  that  I  didn't  want  to 
do  at  all,  horrible  things — like  insulting  people 
gratuitously,  or  laughing  at  sorrow.  I  have 
done  it — I've  insulted  people,  and  I  have 
laughed  at  people's  suffering." 

;<  That,  too,  I  understand,"  he  nodded  his 
head  slowly;  "compulsions." 

"  All  that  has  made  me  afraid — afraid!  I'm 
always  afraid  I  shall  do  something  or  say  some 
thing  in  spite  of  myself,  things  that  are  not  like 
the  real  me  at  all.  I'm  no  longer  mistress  of 
myself.  That's  why  I  say  I'm  losing  my 
mind." 

He  got  up  from  his  chair,  and,  with  his  hands 
behind  him,  began  to  pace  to  and  fro,  between 
me  and  the  fire. 

"  As  I  told  you,"  he  said,  "  you  are  neurotic. 
But  you  mustn't  think  that  so  terrible.  We 
are  all  a  little  neurotic.  It  is  a  question  of 
nerves.  Only  in  your  case  the  neurotic  condi 
tion  has  become  so  bad  that  you  must  have 
help.  You  must  be  shown  how  you  can  con 
trol  yourself. 


MKS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  121 

"  Somebody  has  said  that  we  all  are  born 
heirs  to  the  stars,  but,  before  we  have  gone 
very  far,  we  fall  into  a  pit.  That  is,  the  storm 
and  stress  of  life  drags  us  back,  drags  us  down, 
and  we  can  not  realize  our  ideal  of  happiness 
and  content. — What  do  you  think  has  kept  you 
from  realizing  your  ideal  happiness?  " 

"  George,"  I  returned  unhesitatingly.  "  I 
don't  trust  him.  For  more  than  a  year,  he  has 
made  the  thought  of  love  an  ugly,  despicable 
thing." 

'  We  will  come  back  to  that — many  times. 
Now,  you  see,  having  met  this  obstacle  to  your 
happiness,  you  haven't  dealt  with  it  frankly 
and  fully.  As  you  say,  you  decided  there  was 
no  redress  for  your  mortification.  You  didn't 
give  voice  to  your  bitterness.  And  you  came 
to  the  point  where  you  wanted  to  die,  or  run 
away,  anything  to  escape  your  tragic  disap 
pointment.  It  is  this  state  of  mind  which 
accounts  for  many  of  the  '  mysterious  disap 
pearances  '  the  newspapers  report." 

He  paused  before  he  added: 

"  I  want  to  be  very  clear  about  this:  the 
neurotic  who  comes  to  grief  does  so  because  she 
refuses  to  fight  out  her  battles.  She  flees  from 
realities.  Let  me  put  it  this  way:  all  neurotics, 
men  or  women,  are  those  people  who,  faced  by 


122  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

painful  problems,  throw  up  their  hands  and 
give  up  the  battle  of  life.  That  is,  they  are  in 
a  sense  morally  timid — moral  cowards.  Do 
you  see?  " 

*  You  mean  we  don't  make  the  best  of 
things?" 

"  Practically  that,  but  it  is  more  than  that. 
After  you  decided  it  would  do  no  good  to  talk 
it  over  with  George  or  anybody  else,  you  nat 
urally  withdrew  into  yourself,  tried  to  solve 
your  problems  alone,  tried  to  be  all-sufficient 
unto  yourself.  Of  course,  that  was  impossible. 
No  one  is  sufficient  unto  one's  self. 

'  You  demonstrated  that  very  clearly,  with 
your  search  for  happiness  outside  your  home, 
your  excited  indulgence  in  all  sorts  of  amuse 
ments,  your  outbreaks  of  hilarity,  your  attacks 
of  gloom  and  depression.  So  many  women  do 
the  same  thing.  And  the  moment  one  turns 
from  one's  loved  ones  and  says,  '  I  don't  care; 
let  things  go  to  smash ;  I'll  find  happiness  else 
where,'  just  then  one  heads  for  tragedy. 

'  Your  viewpoint  is  twisted  by  your  brood 
ing,  or  by  your  cynical  levity,  or  by  the  grief 
which  you  continually  exaggerate  by  dwelling 
on  it.  Your  thoughts  run  away  from  you, 
carry  you  hither  and  thither;  you  become  the 
prey  of  fixed  ideas  and  obsessions.  Running 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  123 

away  from  disappointment  is  just  as  demoral 
izing  as  running  away  from  an  enemy.  Cow 
ardice  always  entails  the  most  costly  kind  of 
suffering." 

It  was  queer  that  I  did  not  resent  what  he 
said.  If  anybody  else  had  said  it  to  me,  I 
would  have  resented  it.  I  would  have  been 
angry  with  him  had  I  not  realized  so  fully  that 
his  one  aim  was  to  help  me.  Strangest  of  all 
was  the  mental  attitude  I  had  toward  this  dis 
section  of  myself,  my  motives,  my  conduct. 
Thanks  to  his  earnestness,  his  loving  kindness, 
I  was  able  to  look  at  myself  with  something  of 
clarity,  some  little  measure  of  criticism. 

"  I  can  realize,"  I  said,  "  how  I've  been 
unable  to  find  happiness  away  from  normal 
life  and  normal  things.  I  may  be  able  to  con 
vince  myself  that  I  was  cowardly  in  not  trying 
to  persuade  George  he  was  unfair  to  me.  But 
why  did  I  run  away  from  the  fight?  Why  did 
I  have  the  cowardly  impulse  ?  No  one  chooses 
to  be  a  coward." 

"  Every  coward  is  made  a  coward  in  child 
hood,"  he  answered  without  the  slightest  hesi 
tation.  '  Tell  me:  what  kind  of  a  childhood 
and  young  girlhood  did  you  have?  " 

;<  It  was,"  I  answered  bitterly,  "  a  thing  of 
sackcloth  and  ashes.  You  know  about  my 


124  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

mother  and  father,  how  I  loved  him,  how  he 
died  when  I  was  ten,  how  irritable  my  mother 
was,  and  how  strict  she  was  with  me,  of  how 
much  pleasure  she  deprived  me.  I  say  this 
although  I  loved  her  dearly,  and  she  did  what 
she  thought  was  best  for  me.  But  I  wouldn't 
like  to  live  through  my  childhood  again." 

"  Ah!  "  he  exclaimed  with  quick  sympathy. 
'  You  have  come  back  to  what  I  said:  in  your 
childhood  the  foundation  was  laid  for  the  sor 
row  and  discomfort  you  now  feel.  In  fact,  I 
do  not  think  I  go  too  far  when  I  say  unhappy 
marriages,  divorces,  and  all  the  tragedies  of 
domestic  life  are  formed,  in  miniature,  in  one's 
childhood.  You  ran  away  from  your  problems 
because  your  troubled  childhood  established  in 
you  the  habit  of  mental  flight,  of  not  being 
able  to  satisfy  yourself  as  to  why  this  or  that 
had  to  be  or  had  to  happen." 

"  And  what  am  I  to  do?  " 

'  We  are  going  to  bring  back  to  you  the 
memory  of  all  the  things  that  hurt  you  as  a 
child.  And  those,  taken  with  these  later  an 
noyances  and  irritants,  we  shall  be  able  to  dis 
cuss  and  deal  with  effectively  when  once  you 
have  remembered  them. 

'  The  trouble  is,  we  flatter  ourselves  we  have 
forgotten  many  of  the  things  that  wounded  us. 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OBDEAL  125 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  we  never  forget.  The 
things  we  have  thrust  into  our  subconscious 
minds  with  ruthless  hands  because  we  did  not 
want  to  think  about  them,  come  back  in  dis 
guised  forms  and  strike  down  our  calm,  our 
mental  efficiency." 

"  And  if  I  am  able  to  remember  them,  to 
bring  them  back,  they  will  not  trouble  me  any 
more? " 

"  Exactly.  What  you  are  today  is  the  prod 
uct  of  all  the  things  you  have  thought  and 
felt  and  done  in  all  the  past  hours  of  your  life. 
You  are  a  nervous  wreck  now  because  you 
thought  and  felt  wrongly,  dealt  inadequately 
with  some  of  the  things  that  came  into  your 
life.  We  will  bring  them  into  the  light  of 
reason,  and,  when  we  have  discussed  them  and 
deprived  them  of  the  power  of  worrying  you 
further,  you  will  be  strong,  courageous,  able 
to  take  hold  of  life  and  really  mold  it  '  closer 
to  the  heart's  desire.' ' 

"  But  how  can  I  remember  all  these  things?  " 
I  urged.  "  How  can  I  ever  accomplish  it?  " 

'*  Through  the  proper  use  of  your  dreams." 

"My  dreams,  D  R!  How?"  My  incre 
dulity  returned  in  all  its  force. 

"  I  shall  analyze  them,"  he  said,  disregarding 
my  unbelief.  "  Your  dreams  are  but  the  rec- 


126  ME8.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

ord,  the  record  in  hieroglyphics,  of  your  past 
troubles.  They  tell  in  symbols,  a  beautiful 
symbolism  as  you  will  find,  exactly  wherein 
you  have  been  hurt  and  sent  stumbling  and 
timid  into  the  battle  of  life." 

"  I  suppose,"  I  remarked,  still  doubtful, 
"  you  can  read  my  dreams." 

"  It  is  only  necessary,"  he  said,  "  for  you  to 
tell  me  what  the  things  in  your  dreams  remind 
you  of.  I  will  explain  the  symbolism  and  the 
meaning  to  you  as  we  proceed." 

"  I  will  do  my  share,"  I  said  humbly. 

'*  Then,"  he  assured  me  cheerfully,  "  we  need 
have  no  fear  as  to  the  result.  You  must  trust 
that  to  me." 

As  he  was  leaving,  after  I  had  repeated  to 
him  what  I  wrote  last  night  about  my  unhappi- 
ness  with  George,  he  said: 

'*  Be  ready  tomorrow  to  tell  me  any  dreams 
you  may  have  tonight." 

'  Why,  I  forgot!  "  I  cried  in  dismay.  "  I 
never  dream." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do,"  he  said  with  conviction. 

'  Everybody  has  dreams  every  night,  but  not 

everybody  has  the  habit  of  remembering  them." 

I  wonder  if  everybody  does  dream !  And  I 
wonder  how  I  am  to  get  happiness  as  a  result 
of  my  dreams.  While  he  talked  to  me,  I  felt 


MES.  HARDEN' S  OEDEAL  127 

comforted,  assured.  Now  that  he  is  no  longer 
here,  I  am  all  doubts,  and  indecisions,  and 
fears.  How  are  my  dreams  to  give  me  peace, 
or  make  me  happy  with  George?  Or  does  he 
mean  that  I  shall  be  happy  by  leaving  George  ? 
And  when? 

Most  particularly  I  wonder  how  my  dreams 
are  to  make  me  remember  what  I  saw  in  the 
conservatory  and  why  I  accused  Charlie  Cor 
coran  of  a  murder  I  did  not  even  know  I  had 
witnessed ! 

It  all  seems  so  hopeless  and  far  away  and 
useless,  this  seeking,  by  conversation,  to  regain 
the  mastery  of  my  own  soul — and  to  establish 
the  innocence  or  guilt  of  Charlie.  Do  I  want 
to  remember  what  I  saw  Charlie  do  in  the  con 
servatory?  It  might  be  better,  after  all,  not 
to  remember.  Even  if  he  is  guilty,  it  may  be 
just  as  well  for  me  not  to  remember.  I  do  not 
want  to  see  him  punished. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

EVERAL  hours  after  D  R  left  I  read  the 
afternoon  newspapers.  He  allows  me  to 
do  this.  When  I  asked  him  about  it,  he  said: 

"  I  think  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  know 
what  is  happening  than  to  sit  here  imagining 
all  sorts  of  things.  You  see,  what  we  are  try 
ing  to  do  in  this  work  is  to  enable  you  to  face 
facts." 

The  rest  of  my  life  he  has  permitted  me  to 
arrange  as  I  see  fit.  For  the  present,  I  spend 
my  time  in  my  bedroom  and  writing  room, 
seeing  nobody  but  Miss  Keyes,  not  even 
Amanda,  my  cook,  who  really  is  also  my  house 
keeper.  I  have  not  seen  George  since  yester 
day.  I  shall  not  see  him  for  a  long  time.  I 
can  not  stand  it — and  it  would  do  no  good. 
In  a  few  days  I  shall  take  a  ride  in  the  car, 
with  Miss  Keyes. 

She  is  a  blond  little  thing,  always  cool  and 
self-possessed.  Her  sureness  of  movement, 
her  quickness,  her  quietness,  and  her  gift  for 
never  irritating  me  have  pleased  me  immensely. 
I  know  I  shall  like  her  more  and  more.  That 


MES.  MAKDEN'S  OEDEAL  129 

is,  I  shall  be  able  to  endure  having  her  near  me. 
I  feel  that  I  never  want  to  like  anybody  really 
again.  In  the  end,  to  like  anybody  is  merely 
to  doom  oneself  to  final  disappointment! 

The  inquest  was  held  this  morning.  D  R 
had  given  his  testimony  there  before  he  came 
to  me,  and  he  did  not  mention  it  while  he  was 
here!  Mary  Calhoun  was  a  witness — and  the 
policeman  who  arrested  Charlie  on  the  street — 
and  Chief  Palmer,  who  related  the  conversation 
he  had  heard  between  Charlie  and  me.  Charlie 
did  not  testify. 

And  now  he  is  in  jail  "  to  await  the  action 
of  the  grand  jury.  The  prosecuting  attorney 
plans  to  bring  him  to  trial  the  latter  part  of 
November."  The  last  of  next  month,  then, 
he  will  go  to  trial  for  his  life.  In  the  mean 
time,  he  is  in  jail,  in  a  common  cell,  lodged  with 
outcasts  and  riffraff,  with  nothing  to  do  but 
gaze  at  the  walls  of  his  narrow  cell.  Charlie, 
who  was  forever  on  the  go,  forever  full  of  fun 
and  life,  dancing,  driving  his  gray  roadster  at 
incredible  speeds,  laughing  his  way  through 
life — Charlie,  handsome,  rich,  without  a  care 
on  earth. 

The  verdict  of  the  coroner's  jury  was  that 
Marjorie  came  to  her  death  "  at  the  hands  of 
Charles  Tevis  Corcoran." 


130  MBS.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL 

Ever  since  I  read  that — and  it  is  now  late  at 
night — I  have  been  seeing  Charlie's  hands  as 
they  were  before  he  and  Marjorie  went  into 
the  conservatory — strong,  writhing  hands 
which,  in  pantomime,  crushed  her  throat.  I 
have  seen  those  hands,  and  there  have  flashed 
through  my  mind  hundreds  of  times  the  words 
"  at  the  hands  of  Charles  Tevis  Corcoran."  I 
can't  get  rid  of  his  hands,  even  while  I  am  writ 
ing.  They  dance  before  me,  leap  at  me  out 
of  the  dark,  set  my  brain  to  whirling  like  a 
mill-wheel.  Those  are  the  kinds  of  things  that 
make  me  suffer  so.  It  is  worse  than  being 
haunted  by  a  ghost.  I  can  not  escape.  I 
know  that,  when  I  go  to  bed,  I  shall  lie  there  in 
the  dark  and  see  those  hands  and  repeat  to  my 
self,  like  a  mental  litany,  "  at  the  hands  of 
Charles  Tevis  Corcoran." 

Another  afternoon  paper  printed  this: 
"  Mrs.  George  Marden,  the  well  known 
young  society  matron,  was  not  a  witness  at 
the  inquest.  Although  she  will  be  ultimately 
the  star  witness  of  the  prosecution  against  Cor 
coran,  all  idea  of  summoning  her  today  was 
given  up  when  Doctor  Francis  P.  Doyle,  the 
eminent  neurologist,  assured  the  chief  of  police 
that  she  was  suffering  from  a  complete  nervous 
breakdown  and  was  unable  to  take  the  stand. 


MRS.  HARDEN' S  ORDEAL  131 

"  In  this  connection,  there  was  a  rumor  going 
the  rounds  this  afternoon  that  Mrs.  Harden, 
who  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Corcoran's,  will 
never  testify  against  him.  The  report  is  that 
Mrs.  Marden  claims  to  have  no  recollection  of 
what  she  saw  in  the  conservatory  on  the  night 
of  the  murder  or  what  she  said  to  Corcoran  in 
the  hearing  of  Chief  Palmer. 

"  When  Doctor  Doyle  was  questioned  about 
this  alleged  aphasia  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Mar- 
den,  he  refused  to  make  any  comment. 

"  Chief  Palmer,  however,  was  more  com 
municative.  He  said: 

'  I  do  not  believe  Mrs.  Marden  suffered 
any  such  aphasia,  nor  do  I  believe  that  such  an 
excuse  will  be  put  forward  by  her  or  her 
friends  to  prevent  her  testifying  at  the  trial. 
It  is  merely  a  wild  rumor.  An  aphasia  which 
is  as  '  convenient '  as  that  was,  lasting  only 
long  enough  to  cover  up  the  commission  of  the 
crime  and  her  incriminating  Corcoran,  would 
be  ridiculous. 

'  I  can  realize  Mrs.  Marden's  desire  to  pro 
tect  the  accused.  It  is  natural  in  her  first 
shocked  horror  as  a  result  of  the  crime.  How 
ever,  there  is  no  cause  for  worry.  Mrs.  Mar 
den  will  testify.  You  can  be  sure  of  that. 
This  is  not  an  age  when  justice  can  be  thwarted 


132  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

by  cooked-up  excuses  simply  because  a  witness 
happens  to  like  a  criminal.' ' 

How  do  such  things  get  into  print  so  soon? 
Who  could  have  told  a  reporter  about  my  con 
dition?  Is  it  a  guess,  some  wild  imagining 
that  happens  to  strike  the  truth,  or  has  the 
chief  of  police  found  out  about  me?  Nobody 
knew  of  it  except  D  R  and  George.  Has 
George  confided  in  somebody,  and  has  that 
somebody  betrayed  his  confidence?  Or  did 
D  R  have  to  tell  the  chief  of  police? 

After  all,  it  doesn't  matter.  What  does 
matter  is  that  this  is  what  everybody  is  saying 
about  me,  that  I  am  lying,  that  I  am  trying  to 
protect  Charlie,  and  that  the  attempt  is  ab 
surdly  weak.  So,  all  things  considered,  I  must 
remember !  I  must  win  back  to  a  real  recollec 
tion  of  what  I  saw  and  said.  Not  to  remember 
will  do  Charlie  no  good.  I  have  sent  him  to 
the  scaffold,  as  things  stand  now.  My  only 
chance  of  saving  him  is  to  remember,  to  be 
able  to  say  that  he  did  not  kill  Marjorie 
and  that  what  I  said  to  him  yesterday  morn 
ing  in  the  library  was  nothing  but  the  mad 
raving  of  a  woman  temporarily  out  of  her 
mind. 

That,  of  course,  puts  another  burden  upon 
me.  To  confess  that  I  was  out  of  my  mind! 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  133 

What  woman  cares  to  do  that?  But  I  must. 
I  must ! 

I  believe  Charlie  is  innocent.  Yes,  I  sin 
cerely  believe  that.  But  why  does  the  vision  of 
his  strong,  writhing  hands  haunt  me  so?  Why 
did  they  seem  so  ready  and  eager  to  crush,  to 
choke  ?  Why  do  they  float  before  my  eyes  and 
torment  me?  Why,  when  D  R  told  me  Charlie 
had  been  arrested,  was  my  first  idea  the  recol 
lection  of  those  writhing,  strong,  eager  fingers? 
Perhaps,  it  is  because  I  am  so  weak  nervously. 
It  must  be  that. 

Charlie  did  not  kill  her.  I  know  him  too 
well.  He  did  not.  And  I  must  remember  all 
about  it,  so  that  he  will  be  saved.  I  am  sure 
on  that  point  now.  I  want  to  remember  all 
about  it.  D  R  and  I  must  work,  work,  work 
every  day  so  that,  in  the  end,  I  may  be  able  to 
take  the  stand  and  tell  the  truth.  I  do  not 
fear  the  ordeal  of  testifying  if  only  I  can  help 
him,  if  only  I  can  undo  some  of  the  misery  I 
have  made  him  bear. 


CHAPTER  XV 

LAST  night  I  slept  the  dead  sleep  of  utter 
exhaustion,  except  that  once  I  awoke  and 
sat  up  in  bed  terrified  for  the  moment.  I  had 
had  a  dream — one  which,  in  spite  of  its 
grotesqueness,  filled  me  with  genuine  horror 
and  made  my  heart  flutter  and  my  breath  come 
and  go  in  gasps. 

When  D  R  came,  I  told  him  the  dream,  I 
who  had  been  so  sure  twenty-four  hours  before 
that  I  never  dreamed. 

"  I  don't  think  it  can  mean  anything,"  I 
said  with  a  short,  deprecatory  laugh,  "  but  this 
is  it: 

"  I  dreamed  I  saw  George  running  down  a 
long,  narrow  road.  The  road  had  low,  thick 
bushes  on  each  side  of  it.  He  was  running 
after  a  little  curly-haired  boy,  and  in  some  way 
I  knew  that  he  intended  to  kill  the  child.  He 
was  about  to  catch  the  child  and  kill  it  when  a 
tall  Indian  stepped  out  of  the  bushes  and 
handed  me  a  hatchet,  or  a  tomahawk.  I  threw 
the  hatchet  at  George  and  struck  him  just  as  he 
was  about  to  grasp  the  child's  hair.  Then  I 
was  so  horrified,  I  awoke," 


MBS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  135 

D  R,  pacing  in  his  slow,  restful  way  to  and 
fro  in  front  of  me,  nodded  approvingly. 

"  That  is  an  excellent  dream,"  he  declared 
encouragingly. 

He  went  to  my  desk  and  wrote  one  or  two 
lines  on  a  piece  of  paper  which  he  slipped  into 
an  envelope.  Then  he  put  the  envelope  on 
the  mantel,  leaning  it  against  a  vase. 

"  Now,"  he  began,  turning  to  me  again,  "  the 
great  thing  we  must  remember  is  that  every 
dream  expresses  and  fulfils  a  wish  entertained 
consciously  or  unconsciously  by  the  dreamer. 
In  discussing  all  your  dreams,  in  analyzing 
them  and  rinding  out  what  they  mean,  we  must 
keep  that  in  mind:  to  discover  the  wishes,  the 
longings,  wrapped  up  in  them. 

"  And  the  only  way  we  can  do  this,  and  the 
only  way  you  can  recover  from  your  neurosis 
and  remember  the  affair  about  Corcoran  is 
this:  Whenever  I  ask  you  a  question  about 
what  you  are  reminded  of  by  a  word  or  a  sen 
tence  or  a  fact  in  the  dream,  you  must  answer 
me  immediately.  The  thought  must  spring 
instantly  from  your  brain  to  your  lips.  You 
must  not  edit  it  or  qualify  it  or  hold  it  back. 
No  matter  how  absurd  or  how  irrelevant  may 
be  the  idea  brought  up,  you  must  give  it 
to  me." 


136  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  Is  that  all? "  I  asked,  thinking  how  easy 
it  would  be. 

"  Yes ;  that,  and  the  things  I  may  find  it 
necessary  to  say  to  you  by  way  of  explanation 
as  we  proceed." 

"  I  can  do  that,"  I  agreed  readily. 

'  You  can  if  you  will  be  brave,"  he  cautioned 
me. 

"  Now,"  he  pursued,  pausing  in  his  walk  and 
looking  at  me  intently,  "  what  are  you  re 
minded  of  by  a  little  child?  " 

I  looked  at  him  for  fully  ten  seconds  with 
out  opening  my  lips. 

'  You  said  you  would  tell  me,"  he  per 
suaded.  '  What  has  become  of  the  thought 
that  came  into  your  mind?  " 

"  Oh,  D  R,"  I  answered,  distressed,  "  do  I 
have  to  tell  you  that?  " 

"  Everything,"  he  said,  but  with  wonderful 
tenderness. 

I  hesitated,  struggling  with  myself  at  the 
beginning  of  the  process  of  laying  bare  my 
soul. 

'  When  you  said  '  little  child,'  "  I  forced  my 
self  to  the  words,  "  it  reminded  me  that,  ever 
since  I've  been  married,  I  have  wanted  children 
of  my  own." 

"  And  George?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 


MES.  MAKDEN'S  OEDEAL  137 

I  fought  with  myself  again. 

"  He — he,"  I  said,  the  words  coming  in  a 
whisper,  "  has  never  wanted  them." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  he  urged  gently. 

It  was  terribly  hard.  I  felt  ashamed, 
humiliated,  and,  coupled  with  that,  was  an 
indignant  wondering  as  to  how  all  this  could 
account  for  any  of  my  present  suffering.  But 
somehow,  stumbling,  hesitant  and  abashed,  I 
told  the  story  which  I  had  thought  for  years 
nobody,  not  even  George,  could  ever  drag  from 
me,  the  story  of  my  lost  happiness,  of  my  grief 
because  I  could  have  no  children  without  in 
curring  the  displeasure  of  my  husband ! 

To  the  happy  mother,  with  her  children  at 
her  knee,  this  might  seem  silly  and  impossible. 
But  to  those  others,  the  childless  married 
women,  the  women  who  have  had  no  children 
simply  because  their  husbands  loved  them  as 
women  and  not  as  potential  mothers,  it  must 
ring  true,  bitterly  true.  So  many  of  them 
have  gone  through  that  anguish,  an  anguish  all 
the  greater  because  it  was  not  expected.  They 
know  the  agony  of  it.  They  know!  I  have 
seen  it  on  their  faces,  the  shadow  of  sweet 
hopes  denied,  lovely  visions  unrealized.  And 
I  know ! 

It  all  came  back  to  me  as,  stirred  to  clear 


138  MRS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

memory  by  the  promptings  of  a  jumbled-up 
dream,  I  told  D  R  about  it.  I  told  him  all, 
my  happy  engagement  to  George,  my  dreams 
of  a  home  and  curly-haired  babies,  my  feeling 
on  my  wedding  night  that  I  was  about  to  begin 
with  this  man  the  real  earnest  business  of  liv 
ing,  my  shy,  and  yet  eager,  welcoming  of  his 
caresses;  my  surrender,  in  a  storm  of  passion 
made  beautiful  by  love,  to  him  who  would  be 
the  father  of  my  children.  And  then  I  had  to 
tell  him  of  what  George  had  said  that  very 
night — his  not  wanting  children,  his  wanting 
me  just  as  I  was. 

D  R  had  sat  down  across  the  hearth  from 
me. 

"  And  what  did  you  think  of  that? "  he 
asked. 

"  Oh,  at  first,"  I  said,  "  I  was  numb  with 
grief.  It  did  not  seem  real  or  true.  But,  of 
course,  I  was  in  love  with  my  husband,  and  I 
wanted  to  please  him.  I — I  never  argued  it 
with  him  again.  I — D  R,  I  couldn't — don't 
you  see?  I  just  went  on  living  for  months 
with  that  dull  ache  down  in  my  heart,  that 
thought  in  my  mind  that  I  had  been  struck  a 
cruel  blow,  been  robbed  of  the  greatest  sweet 
ness  of  life.  After  a  while,  eight  or  nine 
months,  I  guess,  all  that  wore  away.  I  for- 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  139 

got.  I  made  myself  forget.  I  wouldn't 
think  of  it  any  more.  If  George  would  be  less 
happy  with  children,  they  were  impossible. 
That  was  all.  I  stopped  worrying,  and  turned 
to  other  things." 

D  R  got  up  and  walked  slowly  back  and 
forth. 

"  A  neurotic,"  he  explained,  "  is  one  who  has 
sacrificed  her  ideals  needlessly  and  refused  to 
meet  her  destiny.  She  does  not  live  naturally. 
If  one  fulfilled  as  nearly  as  possible  all  one's 
ideals  and  did  what  nature  intended  one  to  do, 
one  could  never  be  neurotic. 

'  You  see,  you  are  to  be  cured,  enabled  to 
regain  possession  of  your  mind  by  finding  out 
how  you  have  crushed  your  ideals  and  how  best 
you  may  realize  your  destiny  to  the  full. 

"  Being  a  woman,  your  destiny  was  to  have 
children.  That  is  the  destiny  of  all  of  us,  men 
and  women,  particularly  women.  There  is 
only  one  substitute  for  it,  for  this  great  creative 
business  of  reproduction,  and  that  is  important 
and  creative  work.  Love  and  work  are  the 
only  things  worth  while  in  life — absolutely. 
And  they  are  worth  while  simply  because  they 
are  creative.  The  ideal  state  is  to  have  a  fam 
ily  and  to  do  some  other  creative  work  also, 
but  it  is  seldom  that  a  woman  can  make 


140  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

work  a  thoroughly  efficient  substitute  for  her 
babies. 

"  Now,  what  did  you  do?  You  turned 
directly  against  your  destiny,  against  nature. 
Because,  in  the  first  flush  of  your  love,  you 
wanted  to  please  George  at  all  costs,  you  de 
serted  your  ideal  of  a  home  with  children  and 
deliberately  denied  your  highest  wish.  As  you 
say,  it  distressed  you  at  first,  but  you  made 
yourself  forget  it. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  did  you  forget  it? 
You  did  not.  You  merely  refused  to  think 
about  it.  But  that  did  not  help.  It  was  still 
in  your  mind,  in  your  subconscious  mind.  No 
matter  what  you  did,  there  it  was:  your  dis 
tress  because  you  had  no  children,  and  your 
secret  reproach  and  blaming  of  your  husband 
for  that  fact." 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  blamed  George,"  I 
objected,  breathless  with  wonder  at  the  truth 
of  most  of  what  he  was  saying. 
"  Did  you  blame  yourself?  " 
"  No-o,"  I  hesitated.     "  I  think  not." 
'  But  the  dream,"  he  said,  "  indicates  that 
you  blamed  your  husband.     And  dreams  never 
lie.     In  the  dream,  he  was  pursuing  the  child 
to  destroy  it,  and  not  only  did  you  resent  that 
and  blame  him  for  it,  but  you  took  the  hatchet 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  141 

and  attacked  him.  The  picture  of  the  Indian 
and  the  hatchet  is  but  the  convenient  symbol 
ism  by  which  in  your  sleep  you  express  that 
dislike  of  George  which  you  never  allowed 
yourself  consciously  to  voice  during  the  first 
three  years  of  your  married  life.  Do  you 
see? " 

"  Perhaps,"  I  answered,  still  reluctant. 

Then  the  thought  came  to  me  that,  during 
my  honeymoon,  I  had  inwardly  reproached 
George.  I  remembered  a  night  when  I  had 
leaned  on  the  sill  of  my  bedroom  window,  over 
looking  the  sea,  and  had  thought,  had  even 
whispered,  to  myself:  "  Does  he  mean  this 
for  all  the  time?  Are  we  never  to  have  any 
children?  Why,  George  can't  be  as  unnatural 
as  that!" 

I  caught  D  R's  eye. 

"  Yes,"  I  told  him  with  childlike  candor;  "  I 
did  reproach  him  during  our  honeymoon.  I 
remember  that  I  thought  he  asked  too  much." 

After  that,  we  talked  about  the  Indian. 
What  did  the  Indian  bring  to  my  mind?  It 
brought  many  things,  most  of  them  childhood 
things.  As  a  little  girl,  I  had  loved  the  works 
of  Fenimore  Cooper  and  had  read  all  the  other 
books  I  could  find  about  Indians.  And  my 
mother  had  scolded  me  for  it  at  first,  had  pun- 


142  MES.  MABDEN'S  OEDEAL 

ished  me  finally.  Girls,  she  had  said,  should 
not  become  absorbed  in  blood-and-thunder 
stories.  And  all  the  time  the  Indian  had  stood 
in  my  mind  as  the  type  of  one  who  revenged 
himself  on  his  enemies,  acted  swiftly  and 
bravely,  fought  for  his  rights. 

'  You  see,"  said  D  R,  "  how  natural  it  was 
in  the  dream  for  you  to  get  help  from  an  In 
dian  in  resenting  a  wrong  that  had  been  done 
you,  this  injustice  of  motherhood  frustrated. 

'  Your  dream  isn't  so  silly  after  all,  is  it? 
It  means  simply  that,  in  your  sleep,  you  pun 
ished  George  for  having  denied  you  the  happi 
ness  of  having  a  child.  You  fulfilled  your 
wish,  unconscious  or  semi-conscious  wish,  to 
revenge  yourself  upon  him.  If  you  had  fought 
the  matter  out  with  him  at  the  beginning  in 
stead  of  submitting  to  his  preferences  against 
your  will,  you  would,  I  think,  never  have  been 
able  to  have  such  a  dream  as  this  one. 

"  Our  battles  all  must  be  fought  out  sooner 
or  later.  If  we  don't  fight  them  openly  and 
directly,  we  continue  to  try  to  fight  them  in  our 
dreams,  in  our  daily  irritabilities,  bursts  of 
rage,  discontents — but  such  substitute  battles 
are  never  satisfactory.  And,  finally,  we  are 
overwhelmed  by  our  futile  struggles.  We 
throw  up  our  hands  and  surrender.  We  fight 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  143 

no  more.  When  we  do  that,  the  world  beats 
us.  We  are  weaklings,  unable  to  go  about  the 
business  of  living  properly,  unable  to  achieve 
happiness." 

He  sat  down  opposite  me  again  and  looked 
into  the  fire. 

"  But,"  he  went  on,  "  it  is  not  sufficient  for 
you  to  bring  up  in  your  mind  the  things  that 
hurt  you  because  you  looked  at  them  incor 
rectly  and  because  you  responded  to  them  un 
wisely.  It  is  also  necessary  that,  after  you 
have  remembered  them,  you  consider  them  and 
see  for  yourself  where  and  how  you  acted 
wrongly. 

"  For  instance,  you  told  me  yesterday  that 
you  blamed  George  for  all  your  unhappiness 
and  suffering.  Do  you  blame  him  for  your 
not  having  children? " 

'  Why,  certainly,"  I  said  at  once. 

"  But  is  that  fair?  " 

"  How  do  you  mean,  D  R?  " 

"  I  mean,  can  you  be  sure  that  you  did  every 
thing  possible  to  get  him  to  look  at  the  matter 
from  your  viewpoint?  Did  you  tell  him  how 
miserable  the  thought  of  not  having  children 
made  you?  Did  you  say  anything  to  him  to 
persuade  him  that  children  would  make  both 
you  and  him  happier  in  the  end?  " 


144  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  No.  What  he  said  had  shocked  me  too 
much." 

"  There!  You  see?  You  accepted  that 
blow  to  your  ideals  without  even  a  struggle  to 
avoid  it.  You  accepted  as  final  what  he  said. 
So!  You  can't  blame  him  entirely,  can  you? 
It  was  in  some  degree  your  fault  that  things 
remained  as  they  were,  wasn't  it? " 

"  Oh,"  I  said  impatiently,  "  I  hate  squab 
bling!" 

All  the  same,  he  had  started  me  to  thinking 
that  George  in  that  one  instance  might  have  a 
case,  some  sort  of  defense.  But,  I  reflected, 
no  young  girl  should  be  confronted  with  such 
a  thing  by  a  man  six  years  older  than  herself. 
I  said  as  much  to  D  R. 

"  Oh,"  he  agreed  in  his  gentlest  voice,  "  it 
was  unfortunate,  miserably  unfortunate;  but 
we  must  try  now  to  see  both  sides  of  the  mat 
ter,  George's  as  well  as  yours." 

Before  he  got  up  to  go,  he  said: 
'  We  must  keep  on  working  very  hard  to 
remember  every  one  of  the  ideals  which  you 
allowed  to  be  blurred  or  which  other  people 
dimmed  and  dwarfed  for  you.  If  we  call  them 
all  up  and  discuss  them  and  see  wherein  you 
went  wrong,  that  will  cure  you  of  all  your 
nervousness — everything.  Ideals,  my  dear 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  145 

child,  are  the  guideposts  by  which  we  approach 
at  last  to  contentment — and  to  be  contented 
properly  is  to  lead  a  successful  life." 

He  was  about  to  say  goodby  when,  for  no 
reason  at  all,  I  remembered  that  Marjorie's 
funeral  was  to  have  been  this  morning.  I  had 
not  thought  about  it  all  day  until  then.  He 
saw  my  face  change,  and  asked,  "  What  is  it, 
Ruth? " 

"  Marjorie's  funeral  this  morning,"  I  an 
swered,  a  little  feverishly.  "  Did  you  go?  " 

"  No." 

"  It  seems  strange  that  I  didn't." 

"Why?" 

"  I  don't  know.  It  just  does.  We — we 
knew  each  other  so  well." 

When  he  had  left,  and  Miss  Keyes  came  in, 
I  was  thinking  about  Marjorie.  Rather,  I 
tried  to  think  about  her,  but  my  thoughts  were 
all  wandering  and  confused. 

"  She's  as  cold  now  as  she  used  to  look,"  I 
would  say  to  myself,  and  then  glance  at  Miss 
Keyes  and  think,  "  I  wonder  if  you  are  ever 
troubled — you  look  so  cool  and  fresh  and 
calm."  Then  I  would  have  those  two  thoughts 
all  over  again,  and  over  and  over.  But  I 
simply  could  not  feel  overwhelmed  with  sorrow 
for  Marjorie;  I  just  sat  there  in  front  of  the 


146  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

fire  and  thought  how  cold  she  was,  and  how 
fresh  and  calm  Miss  Keyes  was. 

My  mind  was  a  whirligig.  I  could  not  keep 
it  to  the  straight  line  of  what  I  wanted  to  con 
sider.  Again  and  again,  as  I  tried  to  make 
myself  realize  the  tragedy  of  Marjorie's  death, 
the  death  of  that  lovely  body  with  its  evil-warm 
spirit,  I  found  myself  wondering  in  ridiculous 
vagueness  whether  Miss  Keyes  was  ever 
troubled! 

The  envelope  D  R  had  left  on  the  mantel 
caught  my  gaze.  I  took  it  down  and  saw  that 
it  was  addressed  to  me.  On  the  paper  inside 
were  these  words: 

'  This  is  a  typical  dream,  the  kind  that  has 
been  dreamed  by  so  many  women  that  any 
psychoanalyst  can  interpret  it  at  once.  It 
means  you  secretly  dislike  your  husband  be 
cause  you  have  no  children." 

If  anybody  else  had  employed  such  means  to 
convince  me  of  the  correctness  of  his  science,  I 
would  have  considered  it  theatric,  smacking  of 
the  charlatan,  and  like  boasting.  But  D  R  is 
not  that  kind.  I  realized  that  he  had  done  it 
to  make  me  see  at  the  very  outset  the  extreme 
importance  of  all  my  dreams  and  to  increase 
my  faith  in  the  work  he  was  doing  with  me 
and  for  me. 


MES.  MAKDEN'S  OEDEAL  147 

And  the  thing  astonished  me.  Even  before 
we  had  had  all  our  discussion,  bringing  up 
painfully  the  thoughts  stirred  by  the  contents 
of  the  dream,  he  had  known  precisely  what  I 
would  say,  the  story  that  I  would  narrate !  It 
struck  me  as  marvelous,  uncanny. 

I  crumpled  up  the  note  and  threw  it  into  the 
fire.  And  all  at  once  I  was  seized  by  mis 
givings,  doubts.  How  long  would  this  process 
have  to  continue  before  I  could  remember  what 
I  had  seen  the  night  of  Marjorie's  death?  How 
many  tiresome,  fruitless  days  and  nights  would 
I  have  to  spend?  Why  wasn't  there  some 
swift,  sure  way  to  give  me  relief?  Must  I  go 
on  indefinitely,  racking  my  brain  and  battering 
away  my  physical  strength  against  the  enigma, 
the  double  enigma,  of  my  own  happiness  and 
Charlie's  peril?  I  could  see  no  hope  of  timely 
relief. 

Desperation  settled  upon  me.  I  hurried 
into  the  bedroom  and  studied  my  face  before 
the  mirror,  trying  to  read  in  my  features,  not 
what  I  wanted  to  see,  but  what  actually  was 
there.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  ap 
proached  a  mirror  in  that  state  of  mind.  And 
I  saw  that  my  eyes — eyes  which  in  the  old  days 
had  had  mystic,  elusive  lights  in  their  black 
depths,  soft  lights  of  high  ideals  and  true 


148  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

romance,  and  quick  lights  of  humor  and  enjoy 
ment — were  characterized  now  by  a  sort  of 
steely  glitter,  very  hard  and  very  inexpressive, 
as  if  they  withdrew  my  soul  from  my  own  in 
spection.  And  about  my  mouth,  across  the 
upper  lip,  plainly  evident  at  the  corners,  was  a 
new  line,  a  bit  coarser  than  I  had  ever  seen  it. 
The  flesh  about  my  eyes  was  not  as  firm  as  I 
had  thought.  It  seemed  to  have  loosened, 
ready  for  the  inroads  of  tiny  wrinkles. 

It  was,  I  decided,  not  a  happy  face.  It  had 
that  about  it  which  frightened  me  at  first.  It 
was  the  beginnings  of  age — age!  And  I  was 
only  twenty -five!  D  R  would  have  said  that 
it  came  from  the  assaults  of  my  hidden 
thoughts  upon  my  calmness  and,  therefore, 
upon  my  good  looks.  That  infuriated  me. 
People  had  always  called  me  good  looking.  I 
had  been  good  looking.  I  knew  that.  Now, 
the  thought  of  losing  my  beauty  was  too  much. 

In  a  sudden,  all-enveloping,  futile  burst  of 
rage,  I  seized  a  hairbrush  and  struck  the  mirror 
with  all  my  might.  It  crashed  into  bits. 

When  Miss  Keyes  ran  to  me,  I  was  out 
wardly  calm,  although  inside  of  myself  I  was 
seething. 

"So  awkward!"  I  said  coolly.  "I  acci 
dentally  struck  the  mirror  with  a  brush." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THIS,  the  fourth  day  since  Marjorie's 
death,  has  been  productive  of  so  much— 
and  so  little !  D  R  was  called  to  Philadelphia 
for  an  important  consultation,  but  there  were 
many  others  who  wanted  to  see  me.  I  sup 
pose  they  think,  as  Marjorie  has  been  buried, 
they  are  now  at  liberty  to  satisfy  their  curiosity 
by  coming  to  study  me,  to  form  their  opinions 
as  to  what  effect  the  tragedy  has  had  upon  me. 
Mrs.  Mason  was  the  first  to  leave  her  card  after 
asking  for  me  insistently.  Lots  of  others, 
some  of  them  good  friends  of  mine,  called  also. 
But  I  refused  to  see  them.  They  would  have 
assured  me  of  their  sympathy.  Sympathy! 
It  is  almost  always  a  mockery,  a  device  through 
which  smug  people  pat  themselves  on  the  back 
and  say  to  themselves,  "  Thank  heaven!  noth 
ing  like  this  ever  happened  to  us!"  And  I 
simply  felt  that  I  could  not  stand  it. 

Before  luncheon,  however,  Dick  Jerdyce 
and  Tom  Fordney  came,  and  I  did  see  them. 

They  were  waiting  for  me  in  the  small  par 
lor.  I  found  them  standing  with  their  backs 


150  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

to  the  open  fire.  They  seemed  like  strange 
men,  they  were  so  solemn,  so  subdued  of  man 
ner.  In  a  way,  they  awed  me.  I  had  never 
seen  them  like  that  before.  Always  they  and 
Charlie  had  been,  with  me,  so  full  of  life,  so 
much  the  impersonation  of  the  delight  of  liv 
ing,  so  unfailingly  an  incentive  to  gayety  and 
brightness  and  high-hearted  laughter.  They 
had  never  seemed  to  take  themselves  or  life 
very  seriously. 

As  I  entered  the  room,  their  greeting  was 
stiff,  almost  brusque,  so  determined  were  they 
not  to  let  their  emotion  get  the  better  of  them. 
They  appeared  desperately  afraid  of  seeming 
sentimental.  I  could  see  how  they  held  them 
selves  in. 

"  Hello,  Ruth,"  was  all  Dick  Jerdyce  said, 
as  he  took  my  hand. 

He  was  striking  looking  in  his  captain's 
uniform.  The  dignity  of  it,  perhaps,  accen 
tuated  the  gravity  in  his  face. 

While  he  pulled  forward  a  chair  for  me,  Tom 
Fordney  held  my  hand  in  a  long  clasp,  and 
asked  affectionately,  "  How  you  do? " 

Tom  sat  down  opposite  me,  but  Dick  stood, 
leaning  his  tall  figure  on  one  elbow  against  the 
mantel.  They  are  altogether  different,  these 
two — Dick,  with  his  long,  lean  face  and  strong, 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  151 

bony  jaw,  a  countenance  wonderfully  express 
ive  of  his  keen  knowledge  of  human  nature 
and  his  quick,  rather  mordant  wit;  and  Tom, 
round-faced,  chubby,  a  little  florid,  one  who 
likes  his  cocktails  and  his  practical  jokes. 

"  Feeling  pretty  fit?  "  Dick  looked  down  at 
me  in  real  concern. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  feeling  oddly  oppressed. 
"  Have  you  seen  Charlie?  " 

"  Just  came  from  there,"  he  answered  with 
his  new,  clipped  way  of  speaking. 

"  How  is  he?  " 

"  Fine." 

"  In  great  shape,"  supplemented  Tom. 

"But  tell  me!"  I  demanded.  "Tell  me 
about  him.  How  does  he  feel?  What  does 
he  think?  What  does  he  say?  " 

"  Got  the  finest  nerve  I  ever  saw,"  Dick 
said,  turning  slightly  and  leaning  with  both 
shoulders  against  the  mantel. 

'  You'd  think  he  was  on  a  lark  instead  of  in 
jail,  almost,"  Tom  elaborated. 

Dick  handed  me  a  cigarette  and  lit  one  for 
himself. 

After  that,  he  walked  to  the  window  and 
back.  Tom  sat  staring  into  the  fire. 

'  You  see,  it's  this  way,"  Dick  began  after 
he  had  resumed  his  place  before  the  fire ;  "  I 


152  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

start  for  New  York  tomorrow.  I  sail  for 
France  in  a  short  while." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  I  commented,  as  if 
he  had  said  he  liked  the  weather. 

"  And  Tom's  to  get  his  commission  before 
the  week's  up." 

"  Of  course,"  I  repeated,  and  added  irrel 
evantly,  "  I  haven't  done  any  Red  Cross  work 
for  weeks  and  weeks." 

The  war  was  so  far  away,  and  my  own  suf 
fering  was  so  near !  I  knew  that  I  should  feel 
interested  in  the  war,  but  I  couldn't.  It  was, 
for  the  time  being,  something  that  did  not 
touch  me  in  any  manner. 

I  just  sat  there,  reproaching  myself  for  that 
feeling  in  an  impersonal,  insincere  way. 

"  And,"  Dick  concluded,  "  we  wanted  to  talk 
to  you  about  Charlie  before  we  left." 

"  I  think  we  ought  to  tell  her,  though,"  Tom 
suggested,  "  that  Charlie  told  us  not  to." 

*  Yes,"  agreed  Dick;  "  he  wouldn't  hear  of 
it — told  us  to  let  you  alone." 

There  was  an  awkward  pause. 

'  Tell  me  everything,"  I  turned  to  Tom. 

'  We  went  down  there,  to  the  jail,  this  morn 
ing,1"  he  said,  fidgeting  nervously  in  his  chair. 
'  We  saw  him  with  his  lawyer,  William  Ritten- 
house — you  know,  the  Rittenhouse  of  Ritten- 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  153 

house,  Stabler  and  West.  And  Charlie  told 
us  about  where  he  was  the — that  night  after 
she — she  died.  He  said  he  was  so  unstrung 
that  he  couldn't  hang  around,  and  he  walked 
bare-headed  through  the  streets  to  the  club. 
It  never  occurred  to  him  that  the  police  would 
want  him  that  night.  He  went  into  one  of  the 
card  rooms  and,  mechanically  more  than  any 
other  way,  drank  a  lot  of  champagne  while  he 
sat  there  trying  to  figure  the  thing  out. 

"  He  didn't  get  drunk,  he  said,  but  he 
couldn't  think  things  out  clearly.  All  at 
once  he  wanted  to  get  out,  to  be  in  the  open — 
you  know  how  he  loves  motion  anyway.  And 
he  had  a  boy  telephone  for  a  horse.  He  was 
riding  about  in  the  country  aimlessly  from 
three  in  the  morning  until  he  came  back  into 
the  city  and  the  policeman  saw  him.  Strangely 
enough,  that  was  when  the  champagne  affected 
him.  He  felt  groggy,  he  said,  just  as  soon  as 
he  slipped  from  the  horse." 

"  What  did  Mr.  Rittenhouse  say  to  that? " 
I  asked. 

"  Well,  he  didn't  -    -"  Tom  hesitated. 

'  You  might  as  well  know,  Ruth,"  cut  in 
Dick.  '  We  came  here  to  tell  you.  Ritten 
house  said  he  didn't  suppose  that  story  would 
be  hard  to  substantiate,  but  he  did  say  he 


154  MRS.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL 

couldn't  see  how  the  story  Palmer  heard  you 
tell  Charlie  was  to  be  combated." 

"  And  Charlie?  " 

"  He  said — these  were  his  words:  '  I  don't 
know  about  that.  My  personal  opinion  is  that 
Mrs.  Marden  saw  somebody,  and,  because  she 
thought  Miss  Nesbit  and  I  had  had  some  differ 
ences,  leaped  to  the  conclusion  in  her  nervous 
state  that  I  was  the  man.' ' 

'  Was  that  all  he  said?  "  I  pursued. 

I  could  feel  the  blood  pounding  my  temples. 
They  were  so  slow,  so  timid  about  their  words. 

"  Oh,  he  said  he  was  innocent,  and  he  had 
not  the  slightest  doubt  of  being  vindicated. 
'  In  this  age,'  he  flung  at  us  with  his  old  buoy 
ancy,  '  you  can't  hang  a  man  for  nothing.'  He 
was  great,  Ruth,  great." 

"  Before  we  left,"  supplemented  Tom,  "  he 
took  me  aside  and  told  me  we  were  not  to  annoy 
you  in  any  way.  *  I  know  you  fellows  will 
go  to  see  Ruth,'  he  said.  *  That's  right.  She'll 
be  glad  to  see  you.  She'll  need  a  little  cheering 
up,  I  guess.  But  there's  only  one  message 
you're  to  give  her  from  me.  Tell  her  I'm  right 
as  a  trivet,  and  say  I  sent  her  word  that  she's 
not  to  concern  herself  about  me  for  one  mo 
ment — not  for  one  moment  is  she  to  concern 
herself  about  me.'  When  we  left  him,  he  was 


MES.  MABDEN'S  OEDEAL  155 

standing  in  the  middle  of  the  jail  reception 
room,  smiling,  his  hands  in  his  pockets  as  he 
swayed  gently  to  and  fro  on  the  balls  of  his 
feet — you  know,  his  favorite  attitude." 

"  And  Mr.  Rittenhouse — the  lawyer — what 
did  he  tell  you  boys?  " 

I  had  a  sickening  premonition  of  what  the 
answer  would  be. 

"  Hang  it  all!  "  burst  forth  Dick.  "  That's 
what  we  came  to  see  you  about,  and  we  might 
as  well  have  it  over.  Rittenhouse  said,  unless 
we  could  overturn  your  story,  which  Pal 
mer  heard,  Charlie  didn't  have  a  chance  on 
earth." 

The  immensity  of  that  took  away  my  power 
of  speech  for  a  moment,  and  I  looked  help 
lessly  first  at  one  and  then  at  the  other. 

"  And  how,"  I  asked  at  last,  "  can  my  story 
be  overturned? " 

'  You're  the  only  one  who  can  do  it,"  said 
Dick,  and  walked  to  the  window. 

"That's  it,  Ruth,"  Tom  stumbled  on. 
'  You  must  try  something  besides  this  aphasia, 
this  not  knowing  what  happened,  what  you 
saw." 

Immediately  I  knew  what  these  two 
thought:  that  the  aphasia  was  merely  a  pre 
tence,  that  I  remembered  having  seen  Charlie 


156  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

kill  Marjorie,  and  that  I,  in  order  to  save  him 
after  the  damage  had  been  done,  had  put  for 
ward  the  story  of  not  being  able  to  remember 
what  I  had  seen  and  said. 

From  the  window  Dick  flung  over  his 
shoulder: 

'  You've  got  to  remember  you  didn't  see 
Charlie — and,  after  that,  Palmer's  story  about 
what  he  heard  can't  stand  absolutely  unsup 
ported." 

'  You  see?  "  emphasized  Tom. 

'  You  don't  believe  that  happened  to  me? " 
I  asked  in  amazement.  '  You  two,  who  know 
me  so  well,  don't  believe  my  memory  of  those 
things  was  wiped  out,  utterly? " 

Tom  answered  me,  and  his  voice  shook  a 
little  as  he  spoke. 

"  Nobody  believes  it,  Ruth.  You  might  as 
well  know.  It — it  seems  too  extraordinary. 
It  doesn't  seem — possible,  don't  you  know." 

"  Doctor  Doyle  says  it  is  possible,"  I  offered 
in  explanation.  "  It  has  happened  to  others. 
There  are  many  precedents.  And  my  memory 
may  be  restored.  It  was  destroyed,  tempo 
rarily,  by  the  emotional  strain  under  which  I 
was  laboring.  You  must — you  two  must  be 
lieve  that,  must  believe  me." 

Dick  came  back  from  the  window, 


MRS.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL  157 

"  If  you  say  so,  we  do  believe,  Ruth,"  he 
assured  me.  "  I  guess  we  were  mistaken.  We 
thought  you  had  adopted  this  tack  as  the  best 
way  of  saving  Charlie.  And  we  wanted  to 
tell  you  it  wouldn't  do." 

"  In  some  way,"  explained  Tom,  "  we  got 
the  idea  that  Charlie  thought  you  were  merely 
trying  to  save  him  by  keeping  quiet." 

"  We  thought,"  said  Dick,  "  that  was  why 
he  sent  you  word  not  to  concern  yourself  about 
him.  He  doesn't  want  you  to  make  any  sacri 
fices  for  him." 

Then  I  told  them  how  D  R  had  begun  to 
treat  me,  how  I  would  work,  how  I  was  work 
ing,  to  regain  my  recollection  of  what  I  had 
seen,  and  how  favorable  the  chances  were  for 
my  success. 

"  And,  when  I  do  that,"  I  said,  "  I  shall  tell 
it  all.  I  shall  be  glad  to  tell  it,  because  I  am 
as  sure  as  you  are  that  Charlie  didn't  do  this 
terrible  thing." 

I  asked  them  if  anybody  else  was  under  sus 
picion. 

"  Nobody,"  replied  Dick,  in  quick  emphasis. 
"  Nobody.  The  way  things  stand  now,  Charlie 
is  doomed — doomed." 

"  Such  a  thing  can't  happen,"  I  broke  forth, 
moved  by  the  despairing,  futile  anger  I  have 


158  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

felt  so  often  lately.  "  It  just  can't!  I  shall 
remember." 

"  You  understand,"  begged  Tom,  "  why  we 
didn't  believe  the  aphasia  story,  don't  you? 
We  knew  you  were  the  real  thing,  and  we 
thought  you'd  hit  on  that  as  the  best  way  to 
save  him." 

"  Yes,"  I  said  wearily.     "  I  understand." 

I  understood  also  that  they  did  not  under 
stand  about  me,  that  they  had  not  the  remotest 
idea  of  what  I  was  suffering,  that  they  could 
not  estimate  the  cost  of  what  I  was  doing  so 
as  to  overcome  this  loss  of  memory  which  they 
had  doubted. 

In  spite  of  their  immobility  there  before  me, 
I  sensed  their  nervousness.  Dick,  I  knew, 
was  anxious  to  be  off  to  arrange  for  his  de 
parture  to  the  front.  Tom,  I  felt,  was  think 
ing  he  was  due  back  at  his  desk  in  the  State 
Department. 

They  had  gotten  through  with  their  mission. 
They  had  done  all  they  could  for  Charlie. 
They  were,  perhaps,  very,  very  sorry  for  me. 
But  this  was  not  a  thing  that  sucked  up  the 
essence  of  their  lives  and  dwarfed  all  other 
things  into  nothingness — not  for  them.  It 
was  I  who  bore  the  brunt  of  it,  all  the  weight 
of  it.  Why,  they  had  told  me,  in  so  many 


MES.  HARDEN' S  ORDEAL  159 

words,  that  it  was  I  who  would  free  Charlie  or 
send  him  to  destruction!  They  had  given  me 
that  to  contemplate,  and  here  they  were,  im 
patient  to  go  about  their  other  affairs. 

And  they  were  good  fellows,  fine  men,  my 
warm  friends.  Yet,  in  this  sorrow,  they  were 
as  far  from  me  as  perfect  strangers  might  have 
been.  They  could  not  reach  me,  and  I  could 
not  reach  them.  It  did  not  seem  fair  that  I 
should  bear  so  much,  they  so  little. 

"  Oh,  it  is  awful,  awful! "  I  said,  getting  to 
my  feet,  my  voice  tremulous  more  with  anger 
than  with  distress.  "  It  is  so  awful  for  me. 
You  don't  know.  You  don't  know!" 

'  Yes,"  said  Dick;  "  it's  one  of  those  things 
one  can't  grasp  in  ordinary  terms  of  thought." 

"  Immeasurable,"  said  Tom,  swallowing 
hard. 

"  Crucifixion  by  circumstances.  We  know," 
Dick  added. 

I  had  a  revulsion  of  feeling. 

'  Thank  you,"  I  said,  my  voice  steady 
again.  "  I  believe  you  do." 

A  little  later,  I  sat  before  the  fire  in  my 
writing  room  and  went  over  what  they  had 
said.  After  all,  they  had  told  me  nothing  that 
I  had  not  suspected.  I  had  believed  all  along 
that  the  outside  world  considered  the  story  of 


160  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

my  loss  of  memory  a  lie  I  had  told  in  the  hope 
of  not  having  to  testify  against  Charlie  and  of 
weakening  Chief  Palmer's  story  of  what  I  had 
said  that  morning  to  Charlie.  They  had  merely 
made  more  clear  to  me  the  absolute  necessity 
of  my  recalling  those  events. 

Their  description  of  Charlie  had  been  fine, 
his  cheerfulness,  his  confidence,  his  thought- 
fulness  in  sending  me  word  not  to  concern  my 
self  about  him.  I  could  close  my  eyes  and  see 
him,  as  Tom  had  sketched  him,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  smiling,  rocking  back  and  forth  on 
the  balls  of  his  feet — the  old  Charlie,  he  of  the 
high  spirits.  And  I  am  not  to  concern  my 
self!  .  .  . 

Miss  Keyes  brought  me  an  afternoon  paper. 

This  was  the  first  article  that  caught  my 
eye: 

"  Somebody  other  than  Charles  T.  Corcoran, 
the  wealthy  clubman,  who  is  now  in  the  District 
jail  as  the  result  of  the  verdict  of  a  coroner's 
jury,  may  have  murdered  Miss  Marjorie  Nes- 
bit  in  the  George  Marden  residence  on  the 
night  of  October  25.  That  is  the  problem  now 
confronting  Chief  of  Police  Palmer  and  his 
subordinates. 

"  This  new  element  of  mystery  was  injected 
into  the  case  this  morning  when  Lawrence 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  161 

Dolby,  an  extra  waiter  employed  in  the  Mar- 
den  home  for  serving  refreshments  at  the  dance 
that  night,  told  Detective  Springer  of  having 
seen  a  suspicious  character  in  the  gardens  back 
of  the  house  at  the  time  the  murder  was  com 
mitted. 

"  According  to  Dolby,  who  went  to  head 
quarters  this  morning  and  volunteered  his 
story,  he  was  standing  in  the  kitchen  door  a 
few  minutes  past  midnight  when  he  happened 
to  look  up  and  see  a  man  astride  the  high  brick 
wall  which  separates  the  Harden  garden  from 
the  alley.  The  man  looked  as  if  he  had  just 
climbed  the  wall  from  the  inside  of  the  yard 
and  was  making  his  escape.  He  dropped  out 
of  sight  into  the  alley  while  Dolby  was  looking 
at  him. 

"  Hardly  had  the  man  disappeared  when 
there  broke  out  the  confusion  in  the  house  as 
a  result  of  the  discovery  of  the  dead  woman's 
body  in  the  conservatory.  Strange  to  say, 
Dolby,  according  to  his  statement,  failed  to 
couple  the  man  on  the  fence  with  the  tragedy 
until  last  night  when  he  was  thinking  over  the 
crime. 

"  Dolby's  description  of  the  intruder  is  that 
he  was  rather  small  of  stature  and  very  thin. 
Dolby  was  impressed  by  the  man's  gauntness 


162  MKS.  MARDEN'S  OEDEAL 

because,  as  he  moved  his  legs  in  getting  off  the 
top  of  the  wall,  they  got  the  legs  of  the  loose, 
baggy  trousers  he  wore  into  a  position  which 
clearly  outlined  the  thinness  of  his  limbs. 
Dolby  could  see  this  from  the  glare  of  an  arc- 
light  in  the  alley. 

'  The  tramp,  as  Dolby  calls  him,  had  on  his 
face  a  black  beard  of  about  a  week's  growth, 
and  his  face  was  pallid.  He  wore  a  battered 
derby  hat.  Dolby  could  identify  him,  he 
says." 

Marjorie's  tramp! 

The  gauntness,  the  baggy  clothing,  the 
black  beard,  the  pallid  face,  the  battered  derby 
hat,  all  those  were  the  details  of  the  man's 
appearance  which  struck  me  that  morning  in 
Marjorie's  kitchen.  The  paper  slid  from  my 
lap  as  I  sat  up  straight,  trying  to  think  what 
this  meant. 

I  remembered  the  assured,  possessing  light 
in  the  tramp's  eyes,  and  the  warm,  alluring 
glow  of  Marjorie's.  There  came  back  to  me 
the  impression  of  danger,  of  sensual  wicked 
ness,  I  had  received  from  witnessing  the  scene. 
It  had  been  pregnant  with  possibilities,  so 
much  so  that  I  had  felt  intuitively  that  Mar- 
jorie  needed  the  protection  of  her  mother. 

What  had  come  out  of  that  strange  acquaint- 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  163 

anceship,  that  unnatural  congeniality  between 
Marjorie  and  the  derelict  man?  She  had 
seen  him  again,  once  that  I  knew  of,  perhaps  at 
other  times.  Had  she,  in  her  foolish  toying 
with  the  man's  passion,  inflamed  him  to  the 
point  of  idiocy  ?  Was  it  possible  that  he  could 
have  presumed  to  jealousy?  Had  her  weak 
ness  carried  her  into  reckless  disregard  for 
everything?  Could  he  have  thought  himself 
entitled  to  dispute  possession  of  her  with  any 
one?  Was  it  within  the  range  of  human 
probability  that  he  resented  her  presence  at 
the  dance  while  he,  outlawed  by  fate  and  yet 
her  blood-brother  by  temperament,  was  con 
signed  to  the  alley? 

Had  he  killed  her  because  she  had  amused 
herself  with  him  as  she  had  done  with  so  many 
other  men,  men  more  restrained  than  he,  men 
not  so  elemental,  so  impatient  of  law  and  con 
ventionality,  as  he? 

If  that  had  happened,  Charlie  would  go  free. 

I  picked  up  the  paper  again.  With  the  ex 
ception  of  the  waiter  Dolby's  photograph,  and 
the  statement  that  the  police  had  instituted 
search  for  the  tramp  here  and  in  other  cities, 
there  was  nothing  more  of  interest. 

I,  then,  knew  more  than  the  police.  I, 
alone,  had  the  key  to  the  real  connection  be- 


164  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

tween  Marjorie  Nesbit  and  the  derelict.  I 
was  the  only  one  who  could  show  a  possible 
reason  why  the  tramp  should  have  wanted  to 
punish  her.  I  could  tell  the  story  of  how  Mar 
jorie  had  stooped  down  from  her  high  position 
to  talk,  to  play,  to  engage  in  the  color  of  sin, 
with  this  creature  of  the  gutters. 

On  a  sudden  impulse,  I  rang  for  Miss 
Keyes. 

"  Please  call  Mr.  William  Rittenhouse  on 
the  telephone,"  I  told  her,  "  Rittenhouse  of 
Rittenhouse,  Stabler  and  West,  and  say  to  him 
that  Mrs.  George  Marden  has  some  important 
information  for  him.  Ask  him  to  come  here 
today,  at  once." 

Within  the  hour  I  was  talking  to  him — a 
little  man  with  hard,  steel-gray  eyes  and  very 
tight  thin  lips.  He  sat  in  one  attitude  all  the 
time,  made  no  gestures,  betrayed  no  emotion — 
just  kept  still  and  listened  to  every  word  I  said 
and  studied  me.  He  impressed  me  as  having 
great  power. 

I  described  to  him  the  scene  between  Mar 
jorie  and  the  tramp  and  elaborated  my  theory 
that  it  had  led  to  the  murder.  I  went  with 
great  detail  into  a  description  of  the  ex 
pressions  I  had  seen  on  their  faces  and  what  I 
had  taken  those  expressions  to  mean.  I  re- 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  165 

peated  several  times  my  willingness  to  testify 
about  the  whole  thing  at  the  trial. 

When  my  story  was  finished,  he  was  silent 
for  quite  a  long  time,  thinking. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  at  last,  "  but 
do  you  know  positively  that  Miss  Nesbit  ever 
did  anything — er — that  is,  ever  was  actually 
guilty  of  immorality? " 

"  No,"  I  replied.  "  I  never  heard  anything 
like  that  about  her." 

"  Or  that  she  was  ever  dangerously  indis 
creet?  " 

I  thought  of  the  night  she  and  George  had 
spent  together. 

"  Well,  no,"  I  said,  a  little  hesitant. 

'  That's  the  difficulty,"  he  observed,  after 
he  had  looked  at  me  sharply.  "  No  jury  would 
ever  accept  what  you  saw  in  her  face  as  proof 
against  her  character,  or  proof  that  she  had 
encouraged  this  tramp  as  you  describe.  It's 
not  evidence,  really." 

"  But  I  thought  it  might  be,  since  the  tramp 
is  now  known  to  have  been  so  near  the  scene  of 
the  teurder." 

"  You  see,  Mrs.  Marden,"  he  explained, 
"  I'm  looking  at  this,  not  from  my  viewpoint, 
but  from  that  of  the  prosecuting  attorney.  I 
know  him,  very  keen  fellow,  unusually  able, 


166  MES.  HARDEN' S  OEDEAL 

Harrow  won't  be  bothered  by  the  waiter 
Dolby's  story  unless  it  is  corroborated  in  some 
way." 

"  You  mean  it  won't  help  Char — Mr.  Cor 
coran?  " 

"  Not  without  corroboration.  Harrow  will 
put  Dolby  through  a  cross-examination  that 
will  make  him  admit,  in  the  end,  that  what  he 
saw  on  the  fence  was  nothing  but  a  shadow. 
No;  the  Dolby  story,  unsubstantiated,  won't 
help — won't  help  at  all.  The  only  hope  is  to 
find  the  tramp." 

"  And  yet,"  I  objected  bitterly,  "  I  know, 
know  as  well  as  I  know  my  name,  Miss  Nesbit 
was  bad." 

"  Quite  so,"  he  agreed,  coolly  analytical. 
"  The  world  is  rather  densely  populated  with 
people  who,  without  ever  breaking  a  single 
law,  are  thoroughly  evil.  But  justice,  as  it  is 
administered,  never  touches  thejp." 

"  But,"  I  persisted,  "  the  paper  says  the 
police  are  looking  for  the  tramp." 

"  Oh,  yes.  They  want  him.  To  produce 
him  and  prove  that  he  saw  Corcoran  go  back 
into  the  conservatory  from  the  veranda,  or  to 
have  him  say  he  saw  nothing  connected  with 
the  crime,  will  merely  strengthen  their  case 
against  the  accused," 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  167 

"  Nevertheless,"  I  clung  to  my  point,  "  I'm 
sure  Mr.  Corcoran's  friends  would  like  to  see 
this  tramp  produced.  Mr.  Corcoran  himself 
would  pay  a  handsome  reward  for  his  dis 
covery." 

On  that,  he  reflected. 

"  That's  not  a  bad  idea,  Mrs.  Marden,"  he 
conceded.  "  I'll  suggest  it  to  Mr.  Corcoran: 
that  he  offer  a  reward  for  the  apprehension  of 
the  tramp.  It  will  have  a  good  effect  on  public 
opinion,  his  eagerness  to  dig  up  anybody  who 
can  tell  anything  about  the  events  of  that 
night." 

"  I  would  be  so  glad  if  you  would,"  I 
thanked  him. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  rising,  "  you  are  the 
most  important  witness." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Rittenhouse,"  I  exclaimed,  "  if  I 
only  could!  If  I  only  could  remember!  " 

'  You  may,"  he  answered,  his  manner 
softening.  "  Aphasia  is  a  queer  business. 
This  is  not  the  first  time  I've  encountered  it." 

But  he  left  with  me,  as  Dick  Jerdyce  and 
Tom  Fordney  had  clone,  the  conviction  that  I, 
and  I  alone,  could  save  Charlie  from  the  mass 
of  circumstantial  evidence  against  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THIS  is  the  first  time  in  more  than  two 
weeks  that  I  have  written  in  this  diary. 
Today  is  the  fifteenth  of  November,  and 
altogether  I  have  had  seventeen  talks,  or 
"  sessions,"  with  D  R  in  the  long,  grinding 
struggle  "  to  find  my  own  soul  "  and  to  regain 
my  memory.  It  has  been  cruelly  hard,  a  little 
encouragement  followed  by  great  discourage 
ment,  an  imaginary  ray  of  light  succeeded  by 
darkness  and  despair.  The  "  association  of 
ideas  "  has  seemed  to  lead  everywhere  except 
to  the  point  I  desire. 

I  know  I  should  not  complain.  Everything 
is  done  for  my  comfort  and  pleasure.  D  R's 
patience  is  indescribable,  his  persistence  giant 
like,  his  confidence  in  the  ultimate  result  un 
shakable.  I  never  see  George.  He  has 
dropped  out  of  my  life,  as  I  wished. 

I  continue  to  have  my  meals  up  here  in  my 
writing  room  with  Miss  Keyes,  whom  I  have 
retained  as  a  companion  rather  than  as  a  nurse. 
She  bears  wonderfully  with  my  petulance  and 


MES.  ICAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  169 

unreasoning  bursts  of  anger.  If  she  does  not 
understand  me,  she  is  at  least  completely 
tolerant,  and  always  kind. 

The  grand  jury  has  brought  in  the  indict 
ment  for  murder  against  Charlie.  The  police 
have  unearthed  no  sign  of  the  tramp.  Even 
Charlie's  offered  reward  of  a  thousand  dollars 
for  information  looking  to  his  apprehension 
has  produced  no  results. 

More  and  more  it  becomes  plain  that  the 
life  of  Charlie  Corcoran,  the  life  of  my  friend, 
my  "  playfellow,"  depends  utterly  on  me. 
The  enormity  of  that  responsibility  rests  upon 
me  continuously.  I  can  not  escape  the  thought 
of  it.  If  I  do  not  remember,  he  will  be  con 
victed.  Everybody  says  so.  I  know  it  is 
true.  And  still  that  terrible  night  is  some 
thing  hidden  from  me  as  completely  as  if  it 
had  never  been.  I  can  not  lift  up  even  a  little 
corner  of  the  curtain  that  conceals  it.  My 
desire  to  do  so  and  my  inability  grind  me  be 
tween  them. 

This  analysis  is  so  slow,  some  of  it  so  appar 
ently  without  reason!  It  seems  to  me  that 
D  R  and  I  have  gone  down  into  the  depths  of 
my  subconsciousness  and  dragged  up  to  the 
light  of  day  a  million  experiences  and  im 
pressions  of  my  past.  But,  so  far,  that  night, 


170  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

which  contained  the  most  important  few  hours 
of  all  my  life,  recedes  always  from  me. 

The  idea  of  suicide  still  haunts  me.  There 
are  times  when  I  feel  that  I  must  leave  this 
house  and  everybody  I  know.  Often  in  the 
daytime  I  am  compelled  to  go  into  my  bedroom 
where  I  may  be  alone  and  clench  my  hands 
and  gnash  my  teeth  to  prevent  my  shouting 
aloud  ugly  things,  even  disgusting  and  pro 
fane  expressions,  words  I  did  not  even  know 
I  had  ever  heard.  And  again,  I  burn  with 
shame  at  the  thought  that  I,  even  in  mv  un- 

dj  * 

conscious  condition,  thanked  Charlie  for  the 
murder.  Such  ideas  and  shames  and  regrets 
pursue  me  with  vivid  relentlessness. 

And  yet,  I  realize  that  D  R  is  working 
steadily,  however  slowly,  toward  some  goal. 
My  only  fear  is  that  we  shall  never  reach  the 
necessary  goal,  my  complete  happiness,  and 
the  revivification  of  my  memory.  In  the 
seventeen  hours  he  has  worked  over  me,  he  has 
led  me  into  the  real  fairyland  of  dreams. 

I  know  I  have  learned  fascinating  things 
about  the  symbolisms  in  all  dreams,  how  they 
take  ordinary  things  and  facts  and  make  them 
stand  for  the  most  beautiful  and  intimate 
things  in  life.  I  appreciate  now  the  real 
meaning  of  thick  and  verdant  underbrush  in 


MBS.  MAKDEN'S  ORDEAL  171 

a  dream,  the  invariable  significance  of  a  moun 
tain,  the  meaning  of  a  lane  or  a  long,  narrow 
road,  or  of  a  book.  I  can  tell  with  exactness 
that  thing  for  which  any  long,  slender  instru 
ment  stands,  and  the  true  significance  of  a 
sudden  fall.  The  appearance  of  water,  one 
of  the  loveliest  symbolisms,  is  thoroughly 
familiar  to  me.  In  other  words,  I  have  come 
to  the  place  where  I  can  help  D  R  in  analyzing 
the  more  obvious  parts  of  my  dreams. 

They  recall,  with  unmistakable  emphasis, 
those  incidents  that  hurt  me  worst  in  the  sack- 
cloth-and-ashes  childhood  to  which  my  strict 
and  irritable  mother  confined  me,  those  events 
which  brought  me  face  to  face  with  things  I 
could  not  reason  out  to  my  satisfaction  and 
had  to  accept  as  needlessly  painful  or  inexcus 
ably  harsh  and  wrong  in  the  general  scheme  of 
things. 

For  instance,  today  one  of  my  dreams  re 
minded  me  of  fairy  stories,  and  that  brought 
into  my  recollection,  as  I  talked  to  D  R,  how 
rudely  and  completely  my  mother  shattered 
my  childish  belief  in  fairies  when  I  was  ten 
years  old,  shortly  after  my  father  died.  It 
was  one  of  the  biggest  tragedies  of  all  my  life. 
It  was  particularly  so  because  she  gave  me  no 
explanation,  offered  me  nothing  in  place  pf 


172  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

the  beautiful  things  I  had  believed.  It  caused 
me  only  intense  suffering  and  a  startled,  hot 
resentment  that  people  should  have  lied  to  me 
so  in  letting  me  believe  in  fairyland. 

For  I  did  believe  in  it,  thoroughly  and  with 
out  question  of  any  kind.  I  was  not  surprised 
when  my  father  told  me  that  lovely  nymphs 
lived  in  the  cool,  green  places  under  deep 
waters,  and  dryads,  with  hair  like  gold,  danced 
in  the  depths  of  the  forest. 

Nor  did  it  seem  impossible  to  me  that  "  there 
was  once  a  king's  daughter  so  beautiful  that 
they  called  her  the  Fair  One  with  Golden 
Locks,"  and  that  Avenant,  daring  all  things, 
finally  won  her  love  through  the  aid  of  lesser 
creatures  he  had  befriended. 

I  was  persuaded  that  the  path  of  braided 
silver  leading  across  the  waters  to  the  moon 
was  made  by  fairy  footsteps.  And  it  was  true 
that  the  exquisite  markings  of  a  flower  flung 
to  the  world  every  summer  the  story  of  a 
lover's  lovely  death.  If  it  was  not  true,  how 
had  the  markings  been  made? 

I  loved  the  story  that  long  ago  a  great  ruler 
believed  a  beautiful  girl  could  spin  straw  into 
gold,  and  that,  when  she  failed,  a  man  with 
wonderful  power  volunteered  to  accomplish 
for  her  the  miraculous  task  to  which  she  had 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  173 

been  assigned.  I  believed  men  spun  straw  into 
gold  for  women  always,  and  always  would. 

Even  the  philosophy  of  fairy  stories  was,  to 
my  childish  mind,  a  true  picture  of  how  things 
were  done  in  the  big,  outside  world.  In  them, 
wickedness  finally  was  punished,  and  the  good 
and  deserving  received  their  reward.  Those 
who  longed  for  beautiful  things  found  rest  at 
last  in  palaces  that  were  beautiful. 

The  little  girl,  poisoned  by  the  wicked  step 
mother,  was  befriended  by  seven  little  men  who 
carried  her  across  the  mountains  in  a  casket 
made  all  of  glass  and  gold  as  if  it  had  been  the 
resting  place  of  a  king's  daughter — and  at  last 
she  became  the  daughter  of  a  king. 

The  child  who  was  starving  in  the  field  was 
fed  from  a  magic  table — and  the  boy  who 
went  up  to  kill  the  terrible  giant  succeeded. 
The  girl  whose  loveliness  was  radiant  even 
in  the  smudge  of  the  kitchen  escaped  her 
tormentresses  and  became  the  bride  of  a 
prince. 

All  of  that  was  exactly  as  it  should  have 
been.  I  believed  it  had  been  so.  I  believed 
it  always  would  be  so.  And  suddenly  the 
whole  beautiful  fabric  of  that  belief  was 
shattered  because  my  mother  happened  to  be 
in  a  tantrum  and  lost  her  patience  when  I 


174  MES.  HARDEN 'S  OEDEAL 

asked  her  to  give  me  a  new  book  about  fairies. 
That,  I  say,  was  one  of  my  great  tragedies. 
It  is,  I  dare  say,  a  great  tragedy  in  most  chil 
dren's  lives,  a  tragedy  that  never  can  be  undone 
when  once  it  has  been  committed. 

If  I  had  been  told  that  the  fairies  lived  in 
our  souls  and  were  the  embodiments  of  our 
strivings  for  the  good  and  beautiful,  that  would 
have  saved  to  me  the  comfort  I  had  had  from 
the  fairies.  More  than  that,  it  would  have 
helped  me  in  the  future  battle  with  life.  That 
is  very  evident,  I  think.  No  childhood  should 
be  deprived  of  Fancy  and  Romance. 

If  I  have  Fancy  when  I  am  a  child,  none  of 
the  fogs  of  life  can  ever  make  the  world  en 
tirely  hideous  in  my  eyes.  By  the  same  token, 
if  I  have  in  my  childhood  no  Romance,  I  shall 
grow  up  to  believe  that  all  women  are  false 
and  all  men  liars,  because  I  shall  see  many 
false  women  and  shall  meet  many  men  who  lie 
and  shall  have  no  shield  to  hide  them  from  me. 
But,  if  I  have  been  taught  Romance,  I  shall 
know  throughout  my  clays  that  the  good,  the 
noble,  and  the  sweet  are  the  real  predominating 
elements  of  life. 

We  should  know  more  of  the  grace  of  Ariel. 
Caliban  always  waits  round  the  corner  to  drag 
us  down. 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  175 

But  all  this  is  merely  an  illustration  of  how 
my  dreams,  properly  interpreted,  parade  be 
fore  my  mind  the  wounds  and  defeats  to  which 
I  have  been  subjected  throughout  my  life. 
They  are  legion.  Because  of  my  mother's 
temperament,  I  was  made  into  a  timid  child, 
one  who  responded  with  hilarity  to  advances 
from  anybody  but  retreated  in  alarm  when  no 
one  showed  me  kindness.  I  was  destined  to  a 
life  of  feeling  uncertain  of  myself,  of  with 
drawing  into  myself,  of  being  at  the  same  time 
too  much  moved  by  pride  and  too  much  cast 
down  by  fancied  slights. 

One  by  one,  these  experiences  come  up. 
When  will  the  great  one  appear  from  that  wide 
territory  of  the  things  I  thought  I  had  for 
gotten?  When  will  D  R  be  able  to  say, 
"Ah,  that  is  the  one;  that  is  the  very  scene 
which  made  you  a  neurotic  child  and  finally 
caused  you  to  forget  what  you  saw  in  the  con 
servatory  "? 

"  Every  adult  tragedy,"  he  tells  me,  "  is  the 
reflection  of  a  childhood  tragedy  in  some  way 
or  another." 

When  are  we  to  bring  up  from  the  depths  of 
my  mind  that  old,  old  childhood  scene  which 
made  me  forget?  Shall  we  ever  be  able  to 
bring  it  up  ?  To  answer  that,  is  to  answer  the 


176  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

other  question  which  allows  me  no  peace:  Is 
Charlie  to  be  acquitted? 

No  wonder  that  I  want  to  escape  from  every 
thing,  that  I  long  to  die ! 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


my  memories  were  all  of 
A  my  childhood  and  my  mother.  Today 
they  were  centered  on  George;  and  D  R  and 
I  talked  about  love.  How  marvelously  this 
wise,  patient  man  enables  me  to  see  that  I  have 
regarded  the  affairs  of  life  either  mistakenly  or 
insufficiently  !  There  is  about  him  none  of  the 
manner  of  a  preacher,  no  platitudes,  no  empty 
copy-book  texts,  no  maudlin  sympathy,  no  out 
bursts  of  blame  or  censure  —  merely  a  friendly, 
discriminating,  and  yet  so  convincing,  way  of 
discussing  things  with  unerring  accuracy  and 
unqualified  frankness. 

None  but  the  most  moral  man  should  ever 
attempt  psychoanalysis,  because  the  analyst  is 
obliged  to  take  up  with  his  patients,  men  and 
women,  many  things  of  a  nature  so  delicate 
that  they  have  never  allowed  themselves  even 
to  dwell  upon  them  in  frank  consideration. 
For  instance,  a  week  ago  we  spent  half  an  hour 
trying  to  determine  exactly  why  I  like  the 
peculiarly  embroidered  lingerie  which  I  affect  ! 
Today  it  was  about  George  and  my  feeling 


178  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

toward  him,  not  only  the  feeling  of  dislike  I 
have  for  him  now,  but  particularly  the  ideals 
I  had  about  love  when  I  married  him,  and  later. 
So  devious  is  the  path  leading  back  to  my  re 
membering  what  occurred  the  night  of  the 
murder! 

"  We  must  remember,"  D  R  said,  "  that  not 
everybody  realizes  what  love  is.  So  many 
think  the  mere  acceptance  of  love  from  another 
in  a  happy  frame  of  mind  is  everything. 
That,  of  course,  is  a  dreadful  mistake.  To  be 
loved  is  a  blessing  that  comes  to  us  without  any 
special  exertion  on  our  part.  We  deserve  no 
credit  for  it.  It  is  something  given  to  us,  like 
the  sunshine,  or  the  moonlight,  or  the  keen, 
fresh  air  of  an  autumn  morning. 

"  But  to  love,  that  is  the  supreme  test  of  our 
fitness  in  life.  Then  it  is  that  we  give  some 
thing,  create  an  emotion  in  ourselves  that  is 
of  the  very  highest.  We  become  constructive. 

"  Every  girl  who  marries  knows,  if  she  goes 
downtown  and  buys  a  potted  plant  and  puts  it 
in  her  bedroom  window,  she  must  give  it  care, 
see  that  it  has  plenty  of  water  and  sunlight, 
if  it  is  to  be  kept  alive  and  made  to  bloom. 
But  toward  love,  she  has  in  the  great  majority 
of  cases  a  different  attitude.  '  He  loves  me,' 
she  says,  '  and  that's  all  that  is  necessary.' 


MRS.  HARDEN' S  ORDEAL  179 

"  She  does  not  understand  that  love  must 
be  nourished  with  infinite  pains,  that  it  is  a 
flower  which,  if  neglected,  will  wither  or  die  in 
any  human  breast.  She  fails  to  realize  that 
the  vital  thing  for  her  is  to  preserve  this 
precious  gift  that  has  been  laid  at  her  feet. 
She  is  too  often  possessed  by  the  idea  that  it 
will  take  care  of  itself,  that  it  is  something  only 
for  her  benefit  and  pleasure,  and  that  neglect 
can  not  kill  it. 

'  Whereas,  in  fact,  it  is  only  by  unselfish 
ness  and  daily  care  on  the  part  of  both  man 
and  woman  that  a  beautiful  love  may  be  main 
tained  between  them.  Work,  work  of  the 
spirit  and  the  heart,  is  the  rare  coin  with  which 
happy  love  must  be  bought." 

"  I  think  I  loved  George  that  way,"  I  said. 
"  I  was  always  wanting  him  to  be  with  me,  td 
understand  me;  and  I  wanted  to  be  with  him 
and  understand  him." 

"  But  did  you,  in  fact? "  he  asked  quickly. 
"  Let  us  see.  You  have  told  me  how  you  were 
always  rushing  toward  him,  as  you  expressed 
it,  always  trying  to  translate  yourself  to  him* 
show  him  your  needs,  and  so  forth.  That  was 
all  very  well  as  far  as  it  went.  But  it  was  the 
smaller  part  of  love. 

"  Did  you  carry  out  the  greater  part?     Did 


180  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

you  study  his  wants  and  desires?  Did  you 
long,  did  you  agonize,  to  know  him  thoroughly? 
Did  you  try  to  interest  yourself  really  and 
truly  in  his  amusements,  his  tastes?  Was 
your  rushing  toward  him  a  thing  emphatic 
enough  to  carry  you  over  into  the  domain  of  his 
way  of  looking  at  things  and  enjoying  life? 

"  No  two  people  can  simply  happen  to  he 
thoroughly  congenial  and  contented  together. 
When  they  go  into  marriage,  they  must  agree 
to  make  themselves,  each  somewhat  in  the 
image  of  the  other,  and  they  must  do  it  in  the 
spirit  of  love,  with  great  pains,  so  that  their 
ideals  are  not  lost  sight  of,  so  that  neither  is 
induced  to  espouse  false  values. 

'  We  all  know  that  success  in  business,  in 
sport,  in  achieving  a  reputation,  in  accumulat 
ing  money,  is  won  only  by  the  greatest  effort 
and  the  most  painstaking  exertion.  But  suc 
cess  in  love,  we  say,  will  come  of  itself,  just 
so,  unworked  for,  without  pain  and  care. 
Foolish  people !  The  average  married  couple's 
life  is  a  sad  commentary  on  what  the  result  of 
such  a  view  must  be." 

His  words  shook  me  to  my  depths. 

"  You  are  right,  D  R — perhaps.  I  believe 
I  was  like  most  girls.  I  know  I  expected 
George's  love  to  last  forever.  I  was  not  im- 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  181 

pressed  with  the  necessity  of  so  much  work  on 
my  part." 

"  Of  course,"  he  took  care  to  explain,  "  it 
must  be  happy  work,  cheerful,  a  thing  of  gifts 
and  flowers  and  smiles — whole-hearted,  un 
reserved,  with  generosity  unbounded." 

"  You  think  I  demanded  too  much — and 
gave  too  little? " 

"  I  want  you  to  think,"  he  left  the  decision 
to  me.  "  Surely,  in  your  own  heart,  now  that 
you  have  looked  at  the  facts,  you  know  the 
truth." 

I  did  think  for  a  long  while.  More  than 
ever,  I  had  the  feeling  that  his  knowledge 
gradually  rechiseled  me  into  the  semblance  of 
something  finer,  that  his  wisdom  was  like  a 
magic  blade,  stripping  from  me  a  noisome 
covering  of  inadequate  opinions,  distorted 
ideals,  and  erring  judgments.  I  felt  vaguely 
troubled. 

"  Love,  you  know,"  he  added  gently,  "  is  an 
altar  before  which  the  incense  of  selfless  devo 
tion  must  be  kept  always  burning.  It  is  the 
great  sanctuary  for  the  human  heart,  but  it 
is  a  sanctuary  intended  only  for  the  holy  steps 
of  two." 

Again  I  was  silent,  wondering  whether  to 
speak, 


182  MES.  MAEDElsf'S  OEDEAL 

"  Tell  me,"  I  burst  forth  at  last,  "  why  I 
was  always  so  delighted  with  the  companion 
ship  of  Charlie  Corcoran,  Dick  Jerdyce  and 
Tom  Fordney.  I  must  know." 

"  Corcoran,"  he  answered  immediately, 
"  was  close  to  the  truth  the  day  he  said  he 
thought  you  liked  him  and  the  other  two  be 
cause  there  was  some  misunderstanding  be 
tween  you  and  your  husband.  You  were 
hunting  false  values.  You  were  taking  from 
them  the  admiration,  the  congeniality,  and  the 
close  fellowship  you  were  not  getting  from 
George  Marden.  You  were  substituting  some 
thing  outside  your  home  for  what  you  should 
have  had  only  in  your  home. 

"  That,  I  think,  is  back  of  all  the  friendships 
you  see  between  married  women  and  outside 
men.  And  every  husband,  consciously  or  un 
consciously,  resents  it." 

"  Why?  "  I  demanded. 

I  was  remembering  that  George,  although 
he  never  voiced  it,  had  made  me  realize  his 
resentment  in  this  respect. 

"  Because  he  knows  there  is  some  sort  of  sex 
motive  back  of  any  man's  marked  attention  to 
any  woman." 

"Oh,DR!" 

"  I  do  not  mean  necessarily  grossly  sexual, 


MBS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  183 

in  the  ordinary  acceptance  of  the  word.  I 
mean  that  the  man  may  see  in  the  woman 
merely  his  ideal  of  what  his  own  wife  should  be, 
or  his  ideal  of  what  every  charming  woman 
should  be.  But,  notwithstanding,  the  sex 
motive  is  there." 

"  I  can  not  believe  it,"  I  said  indignantly. 
"  I  refuse  to  believe  it." 

"  How  many  of  these  friendships  between 
men  and  women,"  he  asked  quietly,  "  are  last 
ing?  And  how  many  of  them  finally  result 
either  in  a  disagreeable  termination  or  down 
right  scandal?  " 

To  that  I  had  no  answer. 

'  When  a  woman,  a  wife,"  he  concluded, 
"  turns  to  other  men  to  satisfy  her  craving  for 
entertainment  or  excitement  and  to  satiate  her 
longing  for  admiration,  she  brushes  the  bloom 
from  the  flower  of  her  love  for  her  husband. 
She  is  seceding,  county  by  county,  from  the 
state  of  matrimony. — Do  you  see?  " 

*  You  mean  she  robs  her  husband?  " 

'  Yes — and  fosters  rebellion  within  herself." 

Then,  impulsively  and  without  considera 
tion,  I  told  him  about  Mrs.  Tarone. 

'  I  tell  you,"  I  said  indignantly,  "  I  saw 
him  kiss  her." 

"  Where? " 


184  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  It  was  when  we  were  up  on  the  North 
Shore — Massachusetts,  you  know.  We  were 
down  on  the  beach,  the  private  beach  that  be 
longed  to  the  house  we  had  rented  for  the 
summer.  They  were  in  a  little  cove  hidden 
from  the  rest  of  us,  and  I  came  upon  them 
unexpectedly." 

"  And  that  made  you  feel  rebellious?  " 

"  Angry,  of  course." 

"  But  you  said  nothing  to  him — gave  him  no 
opportunity  to  explain? " 

'  What  explanation  could  there  have  been?  " 
I  demanded. 

"  Perhaps,  he  has  one,"  he  said  with  convic 
tion. 

I  made  no  comment. 

"  Now,"  he  elaborated,  "  your  bringing  up 
this  Tarone  affair  on  top  of  our  talk  about 
friendship  for  these  three  men  is  very  inter 
esting,  isn't  it?  Isn't  it  suggestive  of  the  fact 
that  you  believed,  so  long  as  there  were  Mrs. 
Tarones  in  George's  life,  there  could  be  noth 
ing  wrong  in  your  having  the  Corcorans  and 
Jerdyces  in  yours?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  I  replied,  feeling 
miserable  and  terribly  depressed.  "  I  don't 
know.  Dick  made  love  to  me  once,  before  I 
was  married." 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  185 

"  But  it  never  amounted  to  anything — with 
you? " 

"  Oh,  no." 

"  The  principal  thing  is  that  you  resented 
Mrs.  Tarone,  felt  rebellious.  I  am  inclined 
to  think  the  thing  at  the  bottom  of  all  your 
unhappiness,  your  neurotic  temperament,  is 
your  tendency  to  rebel,  to  retaliate,  to  punish 
instead  of  ever  conciliating  and  compromising. 
One  can't  succeed  in  life  if  one  always  fights 
back,  particularly  if  one  does  it  without  telling 
why. 

"  Some  day,  I  think,  we  shall  find  out  what 
gave  you  that  temperamental  slant,  dig  up  the 
very  incident  in  your  childhood  that  convinced 
you  it  was  always  right  to  punish  and  to  fight 
mercilessly  the  loved  one  who  hurt  you.  Yes ; 
I  believe  we  shall  come  upon  that — and  learn 
how  wrong  the  tendency  is,  wrong  because  it 
was  implanted  in  you  by  an  ugly  and  un 
warrantable  scene." 

Ever  since  this  conversation,  I  have  alter 
nated  between  cool  self-contempt  and  fierce 
self-assertiveness.  Can  it  be  possible  that  I 
undermined  my  own  happiness  because  I  did 
not  understand  the  real  business  of  loving  and 
living?  Was  I  as  much  at  fault  as  George? 
I  refuse  to  believe  it.  I  see  that  there  were 


186  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

some  things  I  might  have  done  differently — 
but  the  others ! 

And,  if  George  failed  me,  was  I  to  mope 
alone  and  not  try  to  find  pleasure  and  com 
panionship  elsewhere?  Why  didn't  I  have  the 
right  to  rebel,  as  D  R  says,  against  the  in 
justice  of  Mrs.  Tarone  and  Marjorie — and 
others?  Why  was  I  to  beg  for  explanations? 

As  I  write  this,  there  recurs  in  my  mind  the 
question:  Why  shouldn't  I  send  for  George 
now  and  see  what  he  has  to  say?  But  no 
sooner  does  the  question  come  than  I  recoil 
from  the  suggestion.  He  has  not  suffered  as 
I  have,  has  not  felt  so  deeply.  He  would 
never  understand,  never!  He  is  not  one  to 
talk  things  over.  I  could  never  get  close  to 
him,  never  know  what  he  really  thinks. 

It  is  all  as  hopeless  as  ever.  Is  my  happi 
ness  to  be  regained  in  this  way?  Does  D  R 
think  it  can  be  won  back  this  way?  I  can  see 
he  thinks  George  and  I  will  be  reconciled. 
But  how?  What  is  to  tear  down  the  wall  be 
tween  us?  How  can  we  ever  be  truly  man 
and  wife  again? 

When  I  ask  that  and  realize  how  desperate 
my  plight  is,  I  am  still  more  horrified,  because 
D  R  has  told  me  that  my  happiness  will  come 
to  me  at  the  same  time  that  I  remember, 


MBS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  187 

remember  about  Marjorie's  death.  And  there 
settles  upon  me  the  weight  of  this  double 
burden,  my  lost  peace  of  mind  and  my  re 
sponsibility  for  the  imprisonment  and  indict 
ment  of  Charlie — Charlie,  the  man  who  saw  in 
me  the  ideal  of  what  his  own  wife  should  be ! 

Can  it  be  that,  deep  down  in  my  subconscious 
mind,  I  don't  want  to  remember,  that  I  am  in 
reality  glad  Charlie  killed  her  and  I  want  to 
protect  him? 

"  There  is,"  D  R  told  me  several  days  ago, 
"  a  compelling,  logical  reason  for  everything. 
If  I  like  curiously  carved  lamps  on  long, 
slender  stems,  or  if  I  admire  tall,  graceful 
women  under  Gainsborough  hats,  the  reason 
for  it  exists  and  is  inextricably  bound  up  in  my 
whole  personality.  If  you  like  to  see,  as  I 
know  you  do,  the  slanting  flight  of  doves  in 
summer,  or  fountains  hanging  like  ropes  of 
silver  in  the  light  of  the  moon,  the  reason  for 
it  is  due  to  what  the  years  have  taught  you  of 
beauty." 

If  that  is  true,  there  is  also  a  compelling 
reason  why  I  have  loved  wrongly,  lived 
wrongly.  And  in  that,  my  comfort  must  be. 
D  H  will  find  out  why  my  soul  was  wounded, 
crippled — and  he  will  make  me  whole  again. 
I  believe  that.  I  must  believe  it  and  leave  all 


188  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

these  questions  to  be  answered  by  him.  I  must 
let  him  lead  me  like  a  little  child  into  the  light 
of  reason,  into  the  calm  sweetness  of  strength 
and  self-reliance. 

For  my  own  comfort — just  to  reassure  my 
self — I  write  down  here  the  theory  of  all  that 
he  is  doing  for  me.  It  is  this: 

He  educates  me  as  to  how  to  control  and 
marshal  my  thoughts,  how  to  think  properly, 
and  how  to  remember.  When  that  education 
is  complete,  when  I  no  longer  am  terrified  by 
any  of  the  aspects  of  life,  I  shall  have  the 
mastery  of  my  mental  processes.  I  shall  re 
member  everything,  and  I  shall  fear  nothing. 
Therefore,  when  I  regain  my  own  happiness, 
I  shall  possess  also  the  ability  to  tell  the  truth 
about  Charlie  and  to  free  him  from  the  accusa 
tion  now  made  against  him. 

That  is  clear  enough  to  me  when  I  set  it 
down  in  black  and  white.  But  I  can  not  keep 
it  always  before  me.  The  old  fears  still  over 
whelm  me.  I  am  not  yet  able  "  to  walk  alone." 
I  know  that,  if,  for  any  reason,  D  R  deserted 
me  now,  I  should  be  miserable  for  the  rest  of 
my  days. 

It  is  not  strange,  then,  that  I  love  him,  that 
I  turn  to  him  for  advice  on  everything,  and 
that,  for  the  time  being,  he  is  to  me  a  father 


MES.  HARDEN' S  OEDEAL  189 

and  a  protector.  And,  deep  down  in  my  heart, 
I  know  I  believe  he  will  eventually  do  for  me 
all  that  he  promises.  The  only  trouble  is  that 
this  belief  is  so  often  obscured  and  without  the 
power  to  comfort  me. 

Hurry,  D  R!     Hurry!     I  have  suffered  so 
long — and  Charlie ! 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TODAY  I  approached  a  feeling  of  exulta 
tion.     It  is  the  eighteenth  of  November, 
and  Charlie's  trial  is  set  for  the  third  of  Decem 
ber.     With  that  ordeal  only  sixteen  days  off, 
he  sent  me  this  characteristic  note: 

"  Somewhere  In  Jail. 

"  DEAR  RUTH  :  Don't  bother  yourself  about 
me.  Worry  is  the  enemy  of  the  leisure  classes. 
Don't  surrender  to  it.  Rittenhouse  has  told 
me  of  your  sending  for  him.  It  was  the  sort 
of  thing  you  would  do.  Pretty  soon  I'll  thank 
you  in  person. 

"  Of  course,  they  have  no  case  against  me. 
True,  the  whole  affair  is  a  mystery,  but  no 
twelve  men  will  punish  me  because  the  police 
have  been  unable  to  solve  the  problem.  I  am 
as  gay  as  a  lark.  Once  more :  don't  worry. 

"  Yours, 

"  CHARLIE." 

But  that  was  not  the  only  thing  to  cheer  me 
up.  In  the  morning  paper  was  a  long,  de 
tailed  statement  of  the  fact  that  the  police  and 
the  prosecuting  attorney,  Mr.  Harrow,  feared 


MRS.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL  191 

the  collapse  of  their  case  against  Charlie,  owing 
to  the  fact  that  they  had  nothing  against  him 
but  circumstantial  evidence.  In  view  of  this, 
they  have  redoubled  their  efforts  to  find  the 
tramp  seen  by  the  man  Dolby  the  night  of  the 
murder.  Descriptions  of  him  have  been  sent 
again  to  all  cities  and  towns  in  the  country  as 
far  west  as  St.  Paul,  and  wide  publicity  has 
been  given  to  the  reward  offered  by  Charlie  for 
his  apprehension. 

Corcoran's  anxiety  to  find  the  tramp,  the 
paper  pointed  out,  was  another  thing  that  dis 
quieted  the  authorities,  since  it  evidenced  his 
confidence  in  his  ability  to  withstand  anything 
the  missing  man  might  say.  It  is  claimed  that 
some  of  the  police  believe  the  tramp  is  more 
probably  the  murderer  than  Charlie.  Their 
only  difficulty  is  that  they  can  discover  no  pos 
sible  motive  for  his  having  committed  the 
crime.  He  may  have  been  actuated  by  the 
desire  to  rob  the  dead  woman  of  her  jewelry. 
That  he  did  not  rob  her,  weakens  their 
suspicions,  although  it  may  be  that  he  was 
frightened  off  before  he  had  time  to  carry  out 
any  such  intention. 

At  any  rate,  it  is  feared  that  no  conviction 
can  be  had  against  the  man  now  in  jail.  "  The 
police  ambition,"  said  the  article  in  the  paper, 


192  MRS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"is  to  secure  a  conviction.  Therefore,  the 
prosecution  of  Corcoran  will  not  waver.  On 
the  contrary,  it  will  be  carried  through  with 
every  resource  at  the  department's  and  the 
prosecuting  attorney's  command.  However, 
everybody  realizes  that  the  case  would  be 
strengthened — or  a  new  accused  be  secured — 
if  the  mysterious  tramp  could  be  located. 

"  Chief  Palmer  still  maintains  his  confident 
belief  that  Mrs.  George  Harden  will  be  a  wit 
ness,  a  valuable  witness,  at  the  trial.  Although 
it  is  generally  understood  now  that  the  promi 
nent  society  woman  suffered  a  curious  stroke 
of  aphasia  which  still  prevents  her  remember 
ing  the  events  of  the  night  in  question,  the 
chief,  without  giving  his  reasons  for  his 
opinion,  declares  that  she  will  appear  with  the 
whole  story.  It  is  upon  this  that  he  bases  his 
prediction  of  a  conviction  of  Corcoran,  al 
though  some  of  his  subordinates  do  not  share 
his  optimism. 

"  If  he  has  a  card  up  his  sleeve,  he  is  de 
termined  not  to  let  the  public  see  it  at  this 
time." 

The  references  to  myself  in  the  article  did 
not  cause  me  any  uneasiness.  I  think  that  is 
because,  in  spite  of  my  wavering  and  uncer 
tainty,  I  have  reached  the  point  where  I  believe 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  193 

implicitly  in  the  power  of  D  R  to  restore  me 
to  a  normal  condition  and  to  give  me  back  my 
power  of  memory  unimpaired.  And,  added  to 
that,  is  my  trust  in  Charlie's  innocence. 

The  tramp  is  the  murderer.  Not  only  am  I 
convinced  of  it,  but  I  have  an  abiding  faith  in 
the  future,  that  the  tramp  will  be  found  and 
brought  to  justice.  I  know,  know,  in  advance, 
that,  when  I  do  recall  what  I  saw  that  night, 
I  shall  remember  having  seen  him. 

All  this  made  me  ask  D  R  today  if  I  might 
go  to  see  Charlie  at  the  jail.  He  said  he  saw 
no  objection.  After  we  had  talked  it  over,  we 
decided  that  it  could  have  no  other  result  than 
to  benefit  Charlie.  It  would  show  my  sin 
cerity  in  my  statement  that  I  had  not  seen  him 
commit  the  murder  and  would  emphasize  my 
belief  in  his  innocence. 

I  wonder  now  that  I  had  not  thought  of  it 
long  before.  When  I  mentioned  this  to  D  R, 
he  said: 

"  Heretofore,  you've  been  thinking  of  your 
self  so  entirely  that  you  haven't  had  time  to 
think  about  anybody  else — don't  you  think 
so?" 

'  Yes,"  I  answered.  "  And  does  this  mean 
that  I'm  better — better  because  I  am  not  so 
wrapped  up  in  my  own  affairs  all  the  time? " 


194  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  Of  course.  It  is  an  old  but  an  always 
timely  truth  that  we  get  out  of  the  world 
exactly  what  we  give  to  the  world.  We  help 
ourselves  only  when  we  help  others." 

Miss  Keyes  and  I  went  to  the  jail  in  my  car. 
It  was  the  first  time  I  had  been  out  of  the 
house.  We  had  sent  no  word  of  our  coming, 
but  the  jailer  was  very  kind  and  showed  us 
into  the  bare  reception  room,  which  was  fur 
nished  with  a  plain  deal  table  and  plain 
straight-backed  chairs.  There  was  one  win 
dow,  iron-barred,  looking  out  on  the  desolate 
ground  toward  the  river.  The  cold,  rough 
outlines  of  the  room  gave  me  my  first  real  im 
pression  of  the  surroundings  to  which  Charlie 
had  had  to  submit  during  all  his  confine 
ment. 

A  warden  ushered  him  into  the  room  and 
retired.  He  came  toward  me,  a  little  look  of 
concern  on  his  face  in  spite  of  his  smile.  So 
far  as  I  could  see,  he  had  not  changed  at  all. 
He  had  all  the  spring  and  snap  of  former  times 
in  his  manner. 

"My!"  he  said  gaily,  taking  my  hand, 
"  I'm  glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  wish  I  had  come  long  ago,"  I  said,  and 
introduced  him  to  Miss  Keyes. 

The  three  of  us  sat  down.     Charlie  was  the 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  195 

only  one  who  seemed  natural,  free  from  con 
straint. 

"  Now,"  he  sighed,  as  if  in  delighted  ex 
pectancy,  "  tell  me  all  the  news,  all  the  gossip." 

"  I  came  to  beg  your  forgiveness,"  I  refused 
to  let  him  be  light-hearted.  "  I  don't  know 
how  you  can  ever  forgive  my  folly  in " 

"  Don't  think  of  it,  Ruth,"  he  interrupted 
me.  "  Forgive  what,  pray?  There's  nothing 
to  forgive.  Besides,  don't  pretend  I'm  threat 
ened  with  anything  serious.  You  might 
remind  me  of  tiresome  people,  a  thing  you 
never  did  in  your  life.  I've  been  visited  by  a 
representative  of  the  Prisoners'  Aid  Society, 
and  by  so  many  people  who  believe  I've  com 
mitted  a  crime.  They  all  say,  '  How  sad! 
How  sad ! '  or  they  exclaim,  *  How  careless  he 
is ! '  They've  made  me  laugh  when  they 
haven't  reduced  me  to  tears  of  boredom.  But 
you — why,  we  can't  waste  our  time  with  that 
sort  of  talk.  Neither  you  nor  I  ever  got  very 
close  to  mock  heroics,  did  we?  " 

He  clapped  both  his  hands  lightly,  palms 
down,  on  the  deal  table,  thrust  his  head  forward 
in  the  attitude  I  knew  so  well,  and  laughed. 

'The  ruling  passion  strong  in  jail!"  he 
exclaimed,  the  old  gayety  in  his  voice. 
"  Haven't  you  a  cigarette,  a  good  cigarette,  in 


196  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

that  bewildering  mesh  of  gold  you  call  a 
bag? " 

I  handed  him  the  bag,  and  he  burrowed  in 
it  like  a  child  looking  for  candy. 

"  But  you  must  let  me  tell  you,"  I  said 
desperately,  "  that  I  am  doing  all  I  can,  Doctor 
Doyle  is  doing  all  he  can,  to  bring  back  my 
memory  of  that  night." 

He  looked  up  from  the  bag. 

"  Is  that  true? "  he  asked,  as  if  amazed. 
"  Rittenhouse  told  me  something  of  it,  but  I 
didn't  believe  it." 

"  Why,  Charlie? " 

He  lit  the  cigarette  he  had  found,  and 
handed  the  bag  to  Miss  Keyes. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  you,  of  all  people, 
would  realize  the  absurdity  of  this  charge 
against  me  and  not  bother  yourself  about  it. 
Don't  waste  any  more  time  on  it,  Ruth. 
Please,  don't." 

He  inhaled  the  smoke  deeply. 

"  Ah,"  he  breathed  in  frank  enjoyment, 
"  this  is  good." 

He  was  all  animation  and  keen  interest 
again. 

"  Some  news,  some  news,  my  kingdom  for 
some  news !  I  do  nothing  down  here  but  talk 
to  Rittenhouse  who  has  a  blanket  indictment 


MRS.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL  197 

of  humanity  stuffed  into  the  place  where  his 
heart  ought  to  be.  I  see  him,  and  I've  seen  a 
few  men.  But  men  know  nothing  about  tell 
ing  you  news.  They  talk  only  of  cards,  horses, 
and  the  war.  Women  are  the  only  people  who 
have  the  gift  of  talking  about  people,  human 
affairs.  Tell  me!  What's  happening  in  the 
world  of  chiffon  and  champagne?  What 
skeletons  rattle  against  the  saucers  as  the 
spoons  clink  against  the  teacups  in  the  after 
noons?  What  scandals  sweep  their  sombre 
robes  across  the  ballroom  floors?  What 
domestic  tragedies  furnish  the  succulent  fare 
for  the  discriminating  palate  at  state  dinners? 
What  beauty's  lustre  is  dimmed?  What 
reputation  is  being  damned?  " 

"Oh,  Charlie,"  I  finally  cried  out,  "I 
haven't  been  anywhere.  I  haven't  seen  any 
body.  I  haven't  done  anything  but  worry 
about  you." 

His  manner  changed  at  once  to  the  gravest 
concern.  The  gayety  slipped  from  him  as  if 
by  magic. 

"  Forgive  me,  Ruth,"  he  said,  like  one  who 
is  penitent.  "  Forgive  me.  Of  course,  I 
should  have  remembered." 

That  showed  me  how  hard  he  had  been  act 
ing  with  his  assumption  of  merriment. 


198  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

I  reached  across  the  table  and  took  his  hand 
for  a  moment. 

"  Charlie,"  I  said,  my  voice  gone  all  to 
pieces,  "  we  believe  in  you.  We  all  do." 

He  looked  at  me  very  seriously. 

"  Of  course,  you  do,"  he  answered  me  a  little 
huskily. 

"  And,  whatever  happens,"  I  told  him, 
speaking  with  greater  firmness,  "  remember:  I 
shall  get  back  my  recollection  of  what  I  saw 
that  night.  I  shall  go  on  the  stand  and  tell 
it  all.  I  know  I  shall  remember  everything, 
everything,  by  the  third  of  December." 

He  half  started  to  his  feet,  with,  "  Oh,  don't, 
Ruth!  Leave  it  alone!  " 

Then,  seeing  my  surprise,  he  slid  back  into 
his  chair. 

'  What's  the  use  of  your  torturing  yourself 
this  way?  It's  all  going  to  come  out  right. 
I'm  not  one  bit  afraid.  Really,  I'm  not.  I 
wish  you  wouldn't  bother." 

He  turned  to  Miss  Keyes. 

"  Exert  your  authority,"  he  said  in  his  old 
light  manner.  "  Make  her  take  care  of  her 
self.  Women,  you  know,  have  such  a  weak 
ness  for  letting  these  neurologists  annoy  them 
to  death." 

After  that,  in  spite  of  me?  he  steered  the 


MRS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  199 

versation  into  easier  channels,  gossiping  about 
the  people  we  knew,  the  men  who  had  gone  to 
the  war,  the  women  who  were  doing  great 
things  in  war  relief.  As  I  rose  to  leave,  he 
said: 

"I'm  going  to  the  front  as  soon  as  this  is 
over.  The  aviation  business  intrigues  me  im 
mensely.  I  like  speed." 

His  last  words  to  me  were,  "  Don't  bother 
another  moment,  Ruth.  Things  are  perfectly 
fine,  just  as  they  are." 

And  he  spoke  with  the  air  of  supreme  con 
fidence. 

On  the  way  home,  I  asked  Miss  Keyes — I 
call  her  Mildred  now: 

"  What  did  you  think  of  him?  " 

"  He's  innocent,"  she  said  with  quiet  con 
viction.  "  Anybody  can  see  that." 

"  I  know  he's  innocent,"  I  declared,  "  and  I 
know  I  shall  be  able  to  prove  it.  I  know." 

My  visit  to  him,  I  see  now,  did  not  mean  to 
him  anything  near  what  I  had  intended  it  to 
mean.  He  had  so  dominated  the  situation, 
had  so  taken  control  of  the  talk,  that  he  had 
made  of  it  merely  a  "  conventional  call  "  which 
he  appreciated  more  than  he  could  say.  And 
I  had  meant  to  prostrate  myself  before  him,  to 
beg  for  his  forgiveness,  to  assure  him  that  he 


200  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

had  nothing  to  fear  because  D  R  would  give 
me  command  of  my  memory,  and  I  would  clear 
him  through  my  evidence.  Yet,  I  had  suc 
ceeded  in  doing  none  of  that.  I  had  been  in 
adequate  when  confronted  by  my  opportunity. 

I  had  even  forgotten  to  congratulate  him  on 
the  pessimism  of  the  police  and  on  their 
anxiety  to  find  the  tramp.  In  fact,  I  had  not 
carried  him  the  comfort  and  cheer  I  had  hoped 
to  do. 

Nevertheless,  he  had  given  me  immeasurable 
hope.  His  bearing,  his  voice,  his  courage,  had 
reconvinced  me — if  that  had  been  necessary — 
of  his  innocence  and  of  the  impossibility  of  his 
being  punished  for  a  crime  of  which  he  was 
innocent.  He  had  given  me  far  more  than  I 
had  taken  to  him. 

Charlie  Corcoran  is,  I  believe,  the  bravest 
man  I  ever  knew. 


CHAPTER  XX 

I  HAVE  seen  Marjorie's  tramp!  And  I 
would  give  everything  I  possess  if  I  had 
never  seen  him,  if  the  earth  had  opened  and 
swallowed  him  up.  Yesterday  I  felt  that  I 
could  put  out  my  hands  and  gather  hope  in 
their  eager  grasp.  Tonight  I  am  wretched, 
miserable.  I  am  too  much  like  that,  at  one 
time  walking  on  false  heights,  at  another  in 
depths  that  are  real.  The  hours  take  hold  of 
me  and  throw  me  hither  and  thither  without 
mercy,  without  cessation. 

Early  this  morning,  quite  soon  after  break 
fast,  Miss  Keyes  came  to  me  with  the  in 
formation  that  there  was  a  tramp  downstairs 
insisting  that  he  be  allowed  to  see  me.  She 
had  tried  to  get  rid  of  him,  she  said,  but  he  had 
refused  dismissal. 

'  There's  something  about  him,  Mrs.  Mar- 
den,"  said  Mildred;  "  I  don't  know  what  it  is, 
but  he  affected  me  so  strangely,  so  strongly. 
I  believe  he  wants  to  tell  you  something 
important." 


202  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  What  does  he  say?  "  I  asked,  and,  as  I  put 
the  question,  I  thought  of  Marjorie's  derelict. 

"  He  keeps  repeating  that  you  will  not  be 
sorry  if  you  see  him.  But  it  isn't  so  much 
what  he  says.  It's  the  way  he  says  it.  He's 
compelling,  for  all  his  rags." 

'  That's  enough  to  arouse  my  curiosity,"  I 
said.  "  I'll  go  down  and  see  him." 

I  had  Jeffries  show  him  into  the  small  parlor. 

He  came  in  and  stood,  a  short  distance  from 
the  door,  marvelously  at  ease  in  spite  of  his 
grotesque  appearance.  There  could  have  been 
no  possibility  of  my  failing  to  recognize  him. 
He  was  the  man  who  had  held  with  his  ardent 
gaze  the  warm,  inviting  eyes  of  Marjorie  that 
morning  in  her  mother's  kitchen.  The  un 
natural  pallor  of  his  face,  the  flaming  eyes,  the 
finely  chiseled  nostrils,  the  worn  clothes 
bagging  over  his  gauntness,  even  the  beard  of 
four  or  five  days'  growth — all  the  details  of 
his  appearance  were  as  they  had  been  when 
I  had  seen  him  before. 

He  held  the  battered  derby  hat  with  easy 
grace  in  his  right  hand. 

I  was  seated  near  the  fire  opposite  him. 
The  strong  light  from  the  wine-like  autumn 
sunshine  fell  full  on  his  face.  As  I  looked  at 
him  and  saw  the  expression  in  his  eyes,  I 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  203 

remembered,  with  odd  distinctness,  what  he 
had  said  to  Marjorie  about  the  eyes  of  the  bird 
whose  nest  he  had  robbed  when  he  was  a  boy. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me?  "  I  asked,  in  a 
neutral  tone. 

He  came  one  step  nearer  to  me. 

"  I've  made  so  bold  as  to  insist  upon  it,"  he 
replied,  his  resonant  voice  so  much  that  of  a 
cultured  man  of  the  world  that  now,  as  on  the 
other  occasion  of  my  hearing  it,  I  was  really 
startled.  It  was  so  unsuited  to  his  appear 
ance,  to  his  shabbiness.  '  They  told  you? " 
he  continued.  '  They  seemed  to  think  you 
would  not  see  me." 

He  paused,  waiting  my  permission  to  say 
more. 

'  What  is  it  you  want? "  I  asked,  giving  no 
intimation  that  I  remembered  him. 

"It  is  a  favor,  a  promise,"  he  said,  with  a 
smile  that  was  half  pathos,  half  irony. 

Apparently,  he  realized  with  painful  thor 
oughness  his  presumption  in  asking  anything 
of  anybody. 

Somehow,  I  knew  it  had  to  do  with  Mar 
jorie.  Stranger  than  that  was  the  fact  that 
I  had  no  conscious  thought  about  his  having 
killed  Marjorie.  As  I  look  back  upon  it  now, 
I  am  sure  I  did  not  consider  that  phase  of  the 


204  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

matter  at  all.  I  was  not  even  thinking,  at  the 
moment,  about  what  bearing  this  man's  reap 
pearance  would  have  on  Charlie's  fortunes. 
His  eyes  commanded  my  attention  to  him  so 
forcefully  that  I  was  taken  up  with  wondering 
what  he  had  to  say.  It  was  strange,  unnatural. 

There  I  was,  a  few  moments  before  con 
vinced  that  he  had  committed  the  murder  and 
obsessed  with  the  wish  that  he  might  be  found 
by  the  police  for  Charlie's  sake.  But,  as  I 
looked  at  him,  or,  rather,  as  his  fiery  glance 
held  mine,  I  felt  neither  interest  in  Charlie  nor 
loathing  for  the  tramp  because  I  was  sure  he 
was  the  murderer.  To  all  intent,  there  was 
for  the  time  being  nobody  in  the  world  but 
him  and  me.  And  I,  /,,  had  condemned  Mar- 
jorie  so  fiercely  because  she  had  been  in 
terested  in  him. 

"  How  can  7  do  anything  for  you?  "  I  asked, 
avoiding  any  display  of  interest. 

He  was  now  standing  quite  close  to  me,  that 
out-of-place  grace  of  attitude  characterizing 
his  gaunt  frame. 

'  You  saw  her — Miss  Nesbit — with  me  that 
morning — in  her  house,"  he  stated,  positive  in 
tone,  although  hesitant  in  phrase. 

I  looked  at  him  closely,  as  if  I  sought  to 
remember. 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  205 

He  put  out  his  left  hand  with  a  deprecatory, 
pleading  gesture  which  effectively  did  away 
with  any  pretence  on  my  part. 

"  Of  course,  you  remember,  Mrs.  Harden." 

"  Yes,"  I  said.     "  I  do  remember." 

"  Then  I  may  speak?  " 

"  If  there  is  anything  I  can  really  do  for 
you,"  I  answered,  with  more  kindness  in  my 
tone  than  I  had  intended. 

Mechanically,  I  noticed  that  his  hands  were 
well  kept — and  I  thought  it  queer. 

"  I  am,"  he  began,  "  as  you  see,  nothing  but 
a  tramp,  a  derelict.  I " 

Quite  unexpectedly  to  myself,  without  any 
conscious  volition,  I  interrupted  him  to  ask 
him  to  sit  down. 

He  took  the  chair  at  the  opposite  end  of  the 
hearth. 

'  You  will  forgive  my  explaining,"  he  be 
gan  again  with  his  slow,  pathetic  smile,  his 
eyes  reminding  me  all  the  time  of  the  eyes  of 
a  bird.  "  I  have  gone  down  and  under — hope 
lessly.  There  are  people  who  do  that — lose 
their  courage,  give  up  their  pride,  and  drift. 
Some  do  it  at  forty,  some  at  fifty.  I  went 
under  at  thirty.  There  is,  I  believe,  I  know, 
no  good  thing  in  me.  Aspiration,  ambition  " — 
he  smiled  horribly  at  that — "  manliness,  are 


206  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OKDEAL 

dead  in  me,  totally  destroyed.  It  is  arrogance 
for  me  to  take  up  your  time." 

I  made  a  move  of  my  head  in  negation.  He 
bent  forward  in  his  chair  and  spoke  with  fever 
ish  swiftness. 

'  You  know  nothing  of  that.  It  is  some 
thing  nobody  cares  to  know.  But  I  am  of  the 
tribe  of  Ishmaelite — continually  unhappy, 
ground  down  forever.  It  was  so  before — let 
us  say,  before  my  fall.  I  always  reached  out 
for  greater  happiness  than  I  had,  than  I  could 
get.  Nothing  satisfied  me.  I  belonged  to  the 
army  of  those  who  know  no  peace,  to  the 
caravansarai  of  discontent.  Some  human 
beings  are  born  like  that.  They  can  not 
struggle  and  win.  They  are  doomed,  pre 
destined  to  ruin. 

"  So  you  know  me,  Mrs.  Harden,  an  out 
cast,  one  who  is  now  blind  to  beauty.  Music 
has  no  charms  for  me  any  more — I  who  loved 
music.  Beautiful  sunsets  are  to  me  nothing 
but  the  coming  of  night.  So  far  as  loveliness 
and  good  and  nobility  are  concerned,  I  am 
atrophied,  dead,  all  of  me.  I  am  an  ugly 
thing  leading  an  ugly  life  in  ugly  ways.  I 
who  was  once  a  man  am  become  the  sport  of 
men.  I  who  was  once  a  character  am  now 
moral  dust." 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  207 

He  paused  a  moment  and  stroked  slowly  the 
battered,  discolored  crown  of  the  derby  that 
rested  on  his  knee. 

"  I  am  anxious  for  you  to  recognize  me  as 
I  am,"  he  resumed,  "  so  that  you  may  not  be 
too  greatly  shocked  when  I  tell  you — what  I 
have  to  tell  you.  One  who  has  been  high,  who 
has  seen  the  stars,  always  falls  lowest.  Let 
me  repeat:  I  am  moral  dust.  For  ten  years 
I've  been  that,  nothing  more." 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  as  if  the  strength  of  his 
feeling  lifted  him,  as  if  he  felt  the  need  of  more 
space,  more  movement,  in  his  attempt  to 
describe  what  had  happened  to  him.  I  was 
utterly  oblivious  of  his  dress,  of  his  grotesque- 
ness.  The  battered  hat,  for  all  I  saw  of  it, 
might  have  been  a  scepter.  He  fascinated  me 
by  his  very  intensity. 

'  Then  I  saw  her — Miss  Nesbit,"  his  voice 
thrilled  delicately.  "  It  was  not  merely  what 
my  physical  eyes  saw — the  pomegranate 
mouth,  the  brilliant,  audacious  hair,  her  eyes 
that  were  not  only  eyes  but  fires  of  affliction. 
It  was  that  immediately  I  knew  her  soul,  as  she 
knew  mine.  Do  you  see?  You  who  had 
known  her  all  her  life — she  was  to  you  a 
stranger.  And  of  necessity.  There  are  no 
emigrants  from  the  realms  of  lasting  discontent 


208  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

to  the  crowded  level  of  ordinary  emotions. 
We  who  battle  with  the  current  of  life,  heading 
always  for  the  harbors  that  gleam  in  the 
distance  and  finding  them,  upon  arrival, 
gloomy  holes  whose  shadows  were  but  mirages 
of  light  from  afar — you  others  never  know  us. 

"  And  that  is  the  curse  of  both  of  us.  It  is 
the  explanation  of  all  the  woe,  all  the  tears,  all 
the  hardness  of  heart  in  all  the  world.  Nobody 
ever  knows  another — nobody  ever,  save  those 
who  have  in  their  eyes  those  fires,  fires  of 
affliction.  We  were  like  that,  she  and  I.  We 
had  known  the  baptism  of  incommunicable 
yearning,  irredeemable  discontent.  I  wonder 
if  you  understand — what  it  means,  always  to 
be  out  of  the  reach  of  happiness  and  satisfied 
desires." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  his  glance  cast 
downward,  as  if  he  despaired  of  making  me 
understand. 

"  At  any  rate,"  he  rushed  out  the  words,  "  I 
knew  her  for  what  she  was — and  she  knew  me ! 
I — think  of  it! — I,  the  nondescript,  the  ruined 
creature,  could  walk  a  while  with  her  in  perfect 
communion,  in  unspeakable  understanding! 
I,  the  tramp,  the  despised,  took  her  in  my  arms, 
kissed  her  on  her  mouth,  felt  all  her  loveliness 
pulsate  with  a  pleasure  that  had  in  it  too  much 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  209 

of  pain — she  who  was  destined  for  tragedy, 
who  was  born  never  to  be  thoroughly  happy, 
she  in  whom  the  fires  of  longing  and  discontent 
smouldered  hotly.  And  I  who  - 

"  Stop!  Stop!"  I  suddenly  cried  out,  my 
hands  over  my  eyes. 

There  was  dead  silence  in  the  room  except 
for  the  whispering  of  the  flames. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Marden,"  he  said 
at  last,  humbly. 

I  put  down  my  hands  and  looked  at  him. 

"  What  is  it?  " 

"  I  had  a  favor  to  ask,"  he  apologized  fur 
ther  by  the  inflection  of  his  voice.  "  Let  me 
explain,  please,  one  thing.  In  all  the  ten  years 
of  my  vagabondage — see  how  I  train  my 
tongue  always  to  the  words  that  are  bitter — in 
all  those  ten  years,  that  was  the  one  event 
which  relit  in  my  spirit  the  old  fires  of  my 
youth  and  brought  back  to  me  some  semblance 
of  the  far-flung  visions  I  had  had.  With  her, 
I  relit  the  flame  I  had  thought  burned  out. 
For  just  that  little  time  I  walked  in  places  that 
were  not  ugly,  and  heard  the  music  of  the 
dawn,  and  saw  the  pale  splendor  of  the  stars, 
and  loved  the  hush  of  twilight.  For  just  that 
little  time;  no  more." 

His  utterance  was  checked  a  moment  by  a 


210  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

queer  noise  in  his  throat,  like  a  sob  cut  short 
with  a  sneer.  It  was  not  good  to  hear. 

"  So,"  he  said,  forcing  himself  to  more  of 
calmness,  "  that  little  time  seems  to  me,  in  spite 
of  what  I  am,  sacred.  It  seems  holy,  just  an 
hour  or  two  between  her  and  me,  in  our  own 
world.  It  is  sacrosanct.  And  I  came  here  to 
ask  you  not  to  make  it  known  that  she — well, 
condescended  to  speech  with  me.  I  came  to 
ask  you,  because  I  know  you  realized  that 
morning  how  close  her  soul  was  to  mine.  For 
her  sake,  Mrs.  Harden,  will  you  be  silent 
about  it? " 

Having  voiced  that  amazing  statement,  that 
extraordinary  request,  he  was  silent,  his  form 
erect,  his  face  eagerly  entreating,  his  eyes 
marvelously  like  the  eyes  of  a  wounded  bird. 

I  tried  to  shake  off  the  tremendous  impres 
sion  he  had  made  upon  me,  to  resent  his  visit, 
his  intrusion. 

"  How  did  you  know  who  I  was,  where  to 
find  me?  "  I  asked. 

"  She  told  me  who  you  were — that  morn 
ing." 

He  was  still  expectant,  his  manner  holding 
me  to  the  favor  asked. 

"  Why  did  you  think  it  necessary  to  ask  me 
this?" 


MES.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL  211 

He  answered  me  directly. 

"  Because  I  shall  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
police — today,  tomorrow,  soon,  some  time." 

Like  a  flash,  with  intense  vividness,  I  read 
the  furtiveness  new  in  his  manner. 

"  You  were  in  my  garden  that  night!  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  he  said  easily;  "  I  was." 

"  And  you  killed  her !  "  I  cried,  half -rising 
from  the  chair  as  I  accused  him.  '  You  killed 
her!" 

He  put  up  a  hand  in  denial. 

"No,  I  didn't,"  he  contradicted,  "but  I 
might  as  well  have  killed  her — so  far  as  what 
I  did  was  concerned." 

There  whirled  through  my  mind  the  idea  of 
calling  for  the  police,  of  telephoning  for  them. 
Suddenly,  the  spell  of  his  peculiar  presence, 
his  resonant  speech,  was  broken.  I  detested 
him.  I  thought  of  Charlie  in  the  jail,  of  my 
own  suffering. 

"  What  did  you  do?  "  I  demanded.  "  Tell 
me!" 

His  figure  was  no  longer  tensed  by  emotion. 
He  stood,  easily  graceful,  almost  nonchalant. 

"  I  was  in  the  garden,  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  leading  from  the  veranda,  when  a  man, 
rushing  out  to  the  veranda,  saw  me.  He 
bounded  down  the  stairs  and  urged  me  to 


212  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

leave,  threatened  me  if  I  would  not  leave, 
offered  me  money  to  go,  told  me  where  to  meet 
him,  mentioned  a  large  sum.  He  said  there 
had  been  trouble.  He  evidently  thought  I 
had  seen  something.  I  told  him  I  would  meet 
him,  and  I  went  over  the  wall.  That  was 
when  Dolby  saw  me." 

"  And  the  man  who  made  you  leave!  " 

My  voice  was  a  whine. 

I  knew  what  he  would  say. 

"  It  was  this  man  Corcoran." 

"  It  can't  be  true!  It  can't  be  so! "  I  said, 
again  in  that  thin,  tremulous  whine. 

"  It  is  true,"  he  insisted,  his  voice  steady. 

I  thought  I  detected  in  his  tone  the  hint  of 
malice,  malice  for  Charlie. 

Then  the  absurdity  of  all  he  had  said  dawned 
upon  me.  He  had  told  me,  had  swept  me  out 
of  myself  as  he  described,  the  sacredness  with 
which  he  regarded  the  time  he  had  spent  with 
Marjorie,  and  yet  now  he  coolly  related  how  he 
had  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the  garden 
when  she  had  been  killed.  It  occurred  to  me 
that  he  must  be  crazy. 

He  read  my  mind. 

"  I  warned  you  that  I  was  moral  dust,"  he 
said  in  unveiled  self-derision.  "  I  didn't  know 
at  the  time  that  anything  had  happened  to 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  213 

her — to  Miss  Nesbit.  The  next  morning, 
when  I  read  it  in  the  newspaper  I  picked  up, 
I — I  did  this:  "  for  a  second  his  face  was 
sinister,  inexpressibly  evil,  "  I  threw  the  paper 
away,  felt  the  money  in  my  pocket,  and  said 
to  myself,  '  Oh,  what's  the  use?  Let  things 
go.'  And  I  went  on,  turning  my  back  on  the 
murder,  on  the  fact  that  I  had  known  her,  on 
everything.  I  sneered  and  said,  '  Of  course, 
it  was  not  for  me,  anything  that  might  lift  me 
up.  It's  the  same  old  hell  for  me  always — 
always.'  And  I  drove  it  all  out  of  my  mind. — 
I  told  you,"  he  repeated,  "  I  was  moral  dust." 

'  Then  why  have  you  come  back?  " 

"  Oh,"  he  spread  out  his  hands,  illustrating 
futility,  "  I  knew  the  police,  for  all  their 
stupidity,  would  find  me  sometime." 

I  simply  stared  at  him  while  I  groped  for 
words  to  deny  his  fantastic  story. 

"  And,"  he  added,  still  self -deriding,  "  you 
may  not  believe  it,  but  I  don't  like  the  state 
ments  in  the  papers  that  I  committed  the  mur 
der.  I  don't,  really." 

"  But  the  money — you  took  the  money,"  I 
went  back  to  that  with  the  belief  that  it  in 
criminated  him  dangerously. 

I  think  my  real  idea  was  to  frighten  him 
away,  to  make  him  try  to  escape  the  police — 


214  MRS.  HARDEN' S  OEDEAL 

for  Charlie's  sake.  No  matter  what  I  might 
say  to  him,  at  heart  I  believed  him,  believed 
him! 

Without  answering  me  at  once,  he  bent 
down  and  fumbled  with  the  frayed  edge  of  his 
right  trousers  leg.  In  order  to  use  both  hands 
in  what  he  was  doing,  he  laid  the  battered 
derby  on  the  floor.  After  considerable  trouble, 
he  drew  from  the  coarse  cloth,  the  inner  stiffen 
ing  of  what  had  been  the  cuff  of  the  trousers 
leg,  a  wad  of  paper.  He  flattened  this  out. 
It  consisted  of  four  fifty-dollar  bills. 

'  That,"  he  said,  "  is  the  money  Corcoran 
gave  me." 

He  smiled  wearily,  scorning  himself. 

'  What  use  has  a  tramp  for  money?  " 

Then,  quite  simply  and  without  even  the 
hint  of  trying  to  produce  any  theatric  impres 
sion,  he  stepped  closer  to  the  fire  and  threw  the 
bills  into  the  flames. 

He  picked  up  his  hat  and  looked  at  me,  the 
old  pleading  in  his  eyes. 

"  In  spite  of  all  that,"  he  said  with  tre 
mendous  energy,  "  will  you  do  me  the  favor, 
Mrs.  Marden?  Will  you  see  that  there  is 
brought  into  Corcoran's  trial  no  hint  of  how 
she — Miss  Nesbit — knew  me?  I  will  tell 
about  my  having  been  in  the  garden." 


MRS.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL  215 

"  Yes !  Yes !  "  I  told  him,  not  knowing  very 
clearly  what  I  said,  and  having  forgotten  that 
I  had  ever  told  Mr.  Rittenhouse  about  it: 
"  Yes;  but  go — go  before  I  call  the  police." 

He  got  to  the  door  without  turning  his  back 
to  me  and  went  quietly  out.  His  only 
acknowledgment  of  what  I  had  said  was  a  long- 
drawn  sigh  of  relief. 

I  sat,  too  stunned  to  move,  trying  to  go  over 
in  my  mind  the  whole  astounding  scene.  I 
felt  physically  ill,  mentally  befogged.  But 
there  was  something  to  try  me  even  further. 

When  I  finally  started  to  leave  the  room  to 
go  upstairs,  I  looked  up  and  saw  standing  in 
the  doorway  a  woman.  For  a  moment  I  did 
not  recognize  her.  When  I  did  distinguish 
who  she  was,  my  heart  sank.  I  felt  like 
screaming  out  to  her  that  I  did  not  want  to  see 
her,  that  I  wished  she  would  go  away.  It  was 
Mrs.  Susie  Mason,  the  Mrs.  Mason  who  had 
described  me  to  Mary  Calhoun  as  "  the  most 
stupid  or  the  most  stupendous  woman "  in 
regard  to  my  attitude  toward  George  and 
Marjorie. 

I  have  never  liked  her.  She  wears  old 
lavender,  and  lives  on  other  people's  emotions, 
and  has  a  tongue  like  a  fang. 

She  came  toward  me  amid  a  swirl  of  ample 


216  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

skirts.  She  moved  swiftly,  as  if  to  emphasize 
her  enthusiastic  delight  at  seeing  me.  I  sank 
back  into  my  chair.  I  haven't  the  faintest 
recollection  of  how  I  greeted  her.  All  I  re 
member  is  that  once,  as  I  put  my  hand  to  my 
cheeks,  it  felt  like  ice. 

Scraps  and  sections  of  what  she  said  to  me 
recur  to  my  mind  now  like  parts  of  a  con 
versational  crazy-quilt. 

"  But  I  knew,  my  dear,  you  wouldn't  mind 
seeing  me.  Any  woman,  particularly  a  young 
woman,  is  fortunate  in  having  a  friend  to 
represent  her,  as  it  were,  at  such  a  time.  .  .  . 
So,  you  see,  they're  all  wondering  what's  the 
truth  about  Ruth  Harden.  .  .  . 

"  Judith  Scofil  referred  to  you  as  *  the 
astonishing  Ruth  Harden.'  .  .  .  She  tried 
to  tell  me  she  had  noticed  that  you  behaved 
peculiarly  before  this  thing  happened,  drank 
too  much  champagne,  and  stopped  speaking  to 
Habel  Turner  for  no  reason  on  earth!  I 
denied  it. 

.  .  .  and  it's  impossible  to  find  an 
ideal  marriage  nowadays.  Judith  said  the 
secret  of  happy  married  life  lay  in  the  ability 
of  husband  and  wife  to  always  make  phenom 
enal  escapes  from  each  other.  She  thinks,  you 
know,  she's  terribly  epigrammatic.  >•  .  « 


MBS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  217 

Of  course,  I  know  how  awful  it  is  to  have  one's 
private  affairs  paraded  before  the  world.  It's 
like  paying  the  price  of  a  divorce  without 
getting  the  divorce.  .  .  . 

"  I  said,  and  I  said  it  in  all  reverence,  it  was, 
perhaps,  a  good  thing  that  she  died,  because, 
if  she  hadn't  died,  she  would  have  become  a 
notorious  character.  .  .  .  Judith  said  it 
was  tragic,  the  way  beautiful  women  never 
seemed  to  be  able  to  keep  from  being  found 
out!  .  .  . 

"  Somebody  expressed  great  admiration  be 
cause  you  had  hit  on  the  idea  of  simply  '  for 
getting  '  everything  you  had  seen  in  connection 
with  the  whole  affair.  Lots  of  them  refuse,  ab 
solutely  refuse,  to  believe  your  memory  failed 
you — in  spite  of  everything  I've  been  able  to 
say.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  foolish  for  not  looking  more  ill 
than  you  do.  That  really  surprises  me.  I 
had  expected  to  find  you  a  shadow,  and  here 
you  are,  your  old  beautiful  self,  save  a  few  lines 
about  your  eyes.  It  surprises  me,  really. 
.  .  .  Social  popularity  is  always  a  boome 
rang.  .  .  . 

"  Judith  said  she  had  lost  faith  in  this  talk 
about '  nerves.'  She  said  she  once  complained 
of  an  attack  of  nerves  when  she  was  a  girl,  but, 


218  MES.  MABDEN'S  OBDEAL 

when  her  father  threatened  to  cut  off  her  pin 
money  unless  she  behaved  herself,  she  re 
covered  quickly.  .  .  . 

.  your  husband.  Servants  gos 
sip.  Anyway,  that's  the  report — that  there's 
been  some  sort  of  an  estrangement  between 
you  and  your  husband.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  and  I  said  you  had  always  been 
a  great  friend  of  young  Corcoran' s — purely 
platonic,  my  dear,  purely.  He  never  did  any 
thing  but  throw  away  the  money  old  J.  W.  had 
made.  .  .  ." 

When  she  had  gone,  I  was  frantic.  What 
she  had  said  about  my  abnormal  behavior,  and 
how  people  thought  I  was  hiding  the  truth,  the 
intimation  that  there  had  been  a  flirtation  be 
tween  Charlie  and  myself,  the  talk  of  my  being 
estranged  from  George,  the  whole  picture  of 
myself  as  the  center  of  gossip  and  scandal — 
all  that  hurt,  but  it  was  a  distant,  numb  sort 
of  pain  compared  to  my  thoughts  of  Charlie. 

He  was  guilty.  The  tramp  had  brought 
forward  indisputable  proof  of  that — for  the 
tramp  had  told  me  the  truth.  That  was  what 
I  believed  while  I  considered  all  that  he  had 
said. 

It  upset  me  so  that,  when  D  R  arrived,  my 
lips  were  blue  and  my  teeth  were  chattering. 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  219 

I  asked  him  to  let  me  go  to  bed,  to  put  off  our 
work  untij  tomorrow.  He  consented,  but  I 
could  see  that  he  knew  I  had  sustained  some 
great  shock. 

"  Isn't  there  something  you  want  to  ask  my 
advice  about  now? "  he  asked  me  over  and 
over. 

But  I  shook  my  head  and  told  him  I  only 
wanted  rest.  I  can  not  lie  to  him,  and  I  did 
not  feel  equal  to  telling  him  all  I  had  learned 
from  the  tramp.  I  was  not  up  to  it  physically. 
I  felt  that,  if  I  tried  to  talk  to  him,  the  exertion 
of  it  would  result  in  something  serious.  I  let 
him  go  without  even  analyzing  my  dream  of 
last  night. 

And  now  I  am  sorry.  I  have  changed  my 
mind  about  the  tramp.  He  came  here  to  de 
ceive  me,  to  persuade  me,  through  sympathy 
for  him  and  the  dead  woman,  to  keep  quiet 
regarding  what  I  know  about  them.  He  did 
that  so  as  to  hide  forever  any  real  motive  he 
might  have  had  for  rage  against  her.  It  seems 
very  plain  to  me  now  that,  if  any  jury  knew 
of  the  real  relations  that  existed  between  him 
and  her,  they  would  have  to  consider  him  as  far 
more  probably  the  murderer  than  Charlie. 

So,  again,  I  hold  the  real  key  to  the  mystery, 
certainly  enough  of  a  key  to  prevent  the  con- 


220  MES.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL 

viction  of  Charlie.  They  say  Charlie's  motive 
was  jealousy  and  anger.  I  can  show  that  this 
derelict's  motive  was  precisely  the  same,  that 
he  made  his  extraordinary  visit  to  me  in  order 
to  cover  up  the  motive. 

Tomorrow  I  shall  tell  D  R  all  about  it.  He 
will  advise  me  as  to  whether  I  shall  tell  the 
story  to  the  prosecuting  attorney  or  to  Mr. 
Rittenhouse. 

The  tramp's  story  is  too  absurd  for  belief. 

Ah,  Charlie,  if  you  only  knew  tonight!  I 
shall  be  able  to  help  you  much,  so  much. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

BEFORE  I  could  tell  the  story  of  yester 
day's  events  to  D  R  today,  he  related  to 
me  a  conversation  he  had  last  night  with  the 
chief  of  police.  Mrs.  Mason  was  right — no 
body  believes  in  my  having  forgotten  what  I 
saw.  If  this  story  of  what  Chief  Palmer  in 
tends  to  do  had  come  from  anybody  but  D  R, 
I  should  be  terrified.  That,  perhaps,  is  one 
reason  why  he  chose  to  give  me  the  facts  in  his 
own  reassuring  way. 

Mr.  Palmer  called  on  him  last  night  and, 
after  much  humming  and  hawing,  said  he  had 
come  to  ask  his  assistance  in  a  most  important 
matter. 

"  What  is  it? "  D  R  inquired,  realizing  at 
once  what  it  was  about. 

"  Let  me  explain  the  thing  to  you,"  Palmer 
prefaced  his  request.  "  Right  after  the  mur 
der  of  the  Nesbit  woman  my  case  against  Cor 
coran  was  complete.  Everybody  said  his  con 
viction  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  I  thought 
so  myself.  But  I'll  be  honest  with  you.  I'm 
beginning  to  lose  confidence  in  it." 


222  MRS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  What's  happened? "  asked  D  R. 

"Nothing  yet,"  the  chief  replied.  "But 
look  at  the  thing  as  it  stands.  The  only  real 
evidence  I  have  is  what  Mrs.  Harden  said  when 
she  staggered  into  the  library  after  discovering 
the  body.  Even  then  she  didn't  mention  Cor- 
coran's  name.  Then  I  heard  what  she  said  to 
Corcoran  the  next  morning.  That  is  the  soli 
tary  thing  that  really  fastens  the  crime  on  him. 
But  I  know  Rittenhouse.  He'll  have  a  string 
of  specialists  and  alienists — you,  probably, 
among  them — to  testify  that  the  words  of  a 
woman  in  such  a  nervous  condition  could  have 
no  possible  value.  After  that,  what's  left?  " 

"  Well,"  D  R  prompted,  "  what  is  left?  " 

'  The  rest  of  it  is  merely  circumstantial,  and 
I'm  not  strong  for  circumstantial  evidence. 
Occasionally  you  get  one  of  these  birds  on  it, 
but  most  of  the  time  you  fall  down,  and  then 
the  newspapers  and  the  public  bawl  out  the 
police  force." 

D  R  smiled. 

'  Your  idea  is  that  you  must  send  up  some 
body  anyway? " 

'  That's  my  duty,"  agreed  Palmer  frankly. 
"  I've  got  to  make  good  on  my  job." 

"  Well,"  D  R  brought  him  back  to  the  point, 
"  what  help  can  I  give  you?  " 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  223 

"  You  see,"  Palmer  still  delayed  his  re 
quest,  "  I  know  what  you  can  do  with  people 
who  don't  want  to  talk,  people  who  won't 
testify.  You've  helped  me  a  lot  in  the  past. 
You  kept  me  from  sending  up  an  innocent  man 
in  the  Williamson  case,  and  you  showed  me 
how  to  get  the  right  man  in  the  Delphos  matter. 
I've  talked  this  over  with  the  district  attorney, 
and  he  agrees  with  me  that  you're  the  man  to 
help  us  out." 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is,"  D  R  said  without 
enthusiasm. 

"  It's  about  Mrs.  Marden,"  he  began. 
"  She  denied  that  interview  with  Corcoran  the 
very  day  she  had  it,  and  she  says  flatly  she 
knows  nothing  about  the  murder,  remembers 
nothing  about  it." 

"Well?" 

D  R's  tone  was  in  no  way  responsive. 

'  What  we  need,  what  we  must  have,"  Pal 
mer  came  at  last  to  his  demand,  "  is  Mrs. 
Marden's  true  story  of  what  she  saw  in  the 
conservatory  that  night." 

"  I  don't  know  what  she  saw,"  D  R  told  him 
coolly. 

"  But  you're  treating  her,  ain't  you?  " 

"  I  am." 

Incredulity  appeared  in  the  major's  face. 


224  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  And  you  don't  know  what  she  saw? " 

"  I  haven't  the  least  idea,"  said  D  R,  resent 
ing  the  man's  incredulousness. 

'  Then,"  remarked  Palmer,  "  I've  got  an 
entirely  wrong  idea  of  what  psychoanalysis 
is." 

"  I  tried  to  explain  it  to  you  at  the  time  of 
the  Anderson  murder,"  retorted  D  R.  "  It's 
not  my  fault  if  you  don't  understand  it." 

"  I  thought  you  could  get  anything  out  of 
a  person  with  it,"  Palmer  persisted.  "  I 
thought  you  could  make  people  tell  you  every 
thing." 

'  There  is  no  opportunity  for  compulsion  in 
psychoanalysis." 

Palmer  shifted  uneasily. 

'  What  the  district  attorney  and  I  want  to 
do,"  he  forced  out  the  words  with  some  diffi 
culty,  "  is  to  make  Mrs.  Harden  talk." 

"  Just — what — do — you — mean?  "  D  R  re 
turned  with  an  emphasis  which,  in  some  way, 
was  like  a  slap  in  the  face. 

"  Oh — er — if  you  can  find  out  what  she 
knows,"  he  stammered,  "  and  then  tell  us 
whether  it's  worth  anything,  that  will  be  all 
right  with  us.  If  she  knows  anything  we 
ought  to  know,  and  you  can  tip  us  off " 

D  R  was  doing  what  was  for  him  a  rare 


MES.  MABDEN'S  OEDEAL  225 

thing.  He  was  indulging  in  an  access  of 
almost  unbridled  anger.  He  kept  his  keen 
gaze  on  the  man. 

"  You  see,"  Palmer  floundered  on,  "  you 
have  her  confidence.  It  would  be  easy  for  you 
to  persuade  her  to  tell  what  she  knows — to 
show  her  that  her " 

"That's  enough,  Palmer,"  D  R  cut  him 
short,  his  voice  like  steel. 

The  chief  made  another  effort. 

"  It  would  be  for  the  sake  of  justice,"  he 
said. 

"  Understand  this,  Palmer,"  retorted  D  R; 
"  I  am  Mrs.  Marden's  physician — and  you 
commit  the  enormity  of  asking  me  to  spy  upon 
her!  Now,  I'll  tell  you  this:  I'll  threaten 
the  welfare  of  no  human  mind,  imperil  the 
peace  of  no  woman's  soul,  for  any  reason." 

His  voice  rang  with  scorn. 

'  What  you  ask  is  that  I  play  the  role  of  a 
detective  and  try  to  trump  up  evidence  about  a 
man  who  has  or  has  not  broken  the  law. 
Why,  can't  you  understand?  Man,  she's  my 
patient! " 

The  chief  of  police  sprang  to  his  feet,  show 
ing  the  aggressiveness  he  had  felt  when  he  first 
entered  the  room. 

"  You  won't  do  it?  "  he  demanded  roughly. 


226  MBS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  Of  course,  not,"  D  R  replied  contemp 
tuously. 

"  Harrow  says,"  Palmer's  voice  carried  a 
threat,  "  you  could  find  out  all  about  it  with 
hypnotism;  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  hypno 
tize  her  and  get  the  whole  story.  He  says 
what  you're  doing — well,  there's  nothing  to 
it." 

"  Mr.  Harrow's  opinion  of  it,  or  yours 
either,"  D  R  answered  that  coldly,  "  has  no 
weight  with  me.  In  this  case,  hypnotism 
would  produce  no  results.  Besides,  I  am 
working  to  bring  Mrs.  Marden  health,  peace 
of  mind,  happiness.  It  is,  I  suppose,  some 
thing  that  neither  you  nor  Harrow  could  be 
expected  to  understand." 

"  All  right,  Doctor,"  Palmer  went  back  to 
his  threat.  "  Don't  say,  when  things  come  to 
a  show-down,  I  didn't  give  her  a  chance — 
through  you." 

D  R  looked  at  him  searchingly. 

'  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  She's  going  to  talk,  and  talk  turkey! 
There  are  more  ways  than  one  to  get  the  truth 
out  of  her." 

D  R's  solicitude  for  his  patient  led  him  to 
put  the  question,  "  What  are  you  going  to 
do?" 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  227 

Palmer  took  his  hat  from  the  desk  and 
laughed  grimly. 

"  Doctor,"  he  asked,  "  have  you  ever  heard 
of  such  a  thing  as  arresting  a  person  as  an 
accessory  after  the  fact?  " 

"  You  wouldn't  do  it!  "  D  R  defied  him. 

"  Won't  I?  You  wait  until  the  time  comes. 
.  .  .  Doctor  Doyle,  if  Mrs.  Marden  won't 
talk,  she'll  be  made  to  talk.  She's  got  plenty 
of  time  to  think  it  over — just  about  two  weeks* 
By  that  time,  maybe,  the  arrest  won't  be 
necessary." 

D  R  kept  down  his  anger. 

"  Palmer,"  he  demanded  crisply,  "  how  can 
you  make  a  woman  describe  a  scene  which  she 
doesn't  remember? " 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  she  don't  remember,"  he 
said  bluntly. 

"  But,  if  she  goes  on  the  stand,"  persisted 
D  R,  "  and  tells  the  truth,  which  is  that  she 
remembers  nothing  about  the  murder,  what 
then?  " 

Palmer  struck  the  desk  with  his  fist. 

"  Doctor,  it's  up  to  you.  You  know  that, 
and  I  know  it.  It's  up  to  you,  and  you  can 
decide  whether  this  arrest  is  to  be  made  at  all." 

D  R  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"  Don't  be  unreasonable,"  he  said.     "  Why, 


228  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

Palmer,  what  a  patient  says  to  me  is  inviolate. 
Neither  you  nor  any  court  of  law  may 
scrutinize  it.  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  disclose 
the  secrets  that  come  to  me  in  the  confessional 
of  my  practice." 

Palmer's  aggressiveness  did  not  diminish. 

"  She's  your  patient  and  your  friend,"  he 
returned,  doggedly.  "  And  it's  up  to  you, 
Doctor.  There's  plenty  of  time  for  you  to 
decide.  I  may  not  understand  your  methods 
or  your  science,  but  I  do  know  that  you  have 
access  to  the  secrets  of  the  people  who  come  to 
you  for  help.  You  can  prevent  her  arrest. 
It's  up  to  you." 

When  D  R  had  finished  telling  me  about 
Palmer's  visit,  I  asked  him,  "  Would  he  really 
do  it,  D  R?  Would  he  arrest  me?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  slowly.  "  He 
might.  We  must  look  at  these  things  squarely. 
Yes;  he  might.  He  would  do  anything  that 
resembled  a  strengthening  of  his  case  against 
Corcoran." 

"  And  to  arrest  me  as  an  accessory  after  the 
fact — just  what  is  it? " 

"  It's  the  charge  that  3^011  are  protecting  the 
accused  by  not  giving  evidence  in  your  posses 
sion,  evidence  valuable  to  the  state." 

Then  I  remembered  about  the  tramp,  and  I 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  229 

told  him  all  about  it,  the  conversation,  the 
burning  of  the  money,  my  belief  in  him  at 
first,  my  decision  last  night  that  he  was  guilty 
and  was  trying  to  conceal  his  having  had  any 
motive  for  the  murder. 

D  R  agreed  with  me  in  this  last  supposi 
tion — that  the  tramp  had  sought,  with  great 
cleverness,  to  insure  my  silence  concerning  his 
connection  with  Marjorie. 

"  And  yet,"  I  said,  "  he  impressed  me  at 
first  as  being  sincere.  His  manner  was  so  con 
vincing,  and  he  talked  so  well,  so  unusually 
well." 

"  We  are  told,"  said  D  R  with  a  smile,  "  that 
a  certain  other  castaway  is  rather  good  at 
quoting  scripture  for  his  own  purposes." 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  now?  What  can 
I  do?" 

"  Do  nothing,"  he  advised  me,  to  my  great 
surprise.  '  You  see,  Ruth,  we  have  less  than 
two  weeks  for  our  work,  if  it  is  to  produce  the 
results  we  desire  before  the  trial.  The  police 
will  find  this  tramp.  You  need  not  feel  alarm 
about  his  getting  away.  Your  evidence  con 
cerning  him  will  be  as  good  the  day  of  the 
trial  as  it  is  now." 

"  But  to  keep  quiet  is  merely  to  prolong 
Charlie's  suspense," 


230  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  He  can  stand  a  little  more  of  it,"  D  R 
said,  with  great  gentleness.  "  There  is  some 
thing  even  bigger  than  that  for  you  to  do  now 
— regain  your  memory  of  that  night.  And 
you  can  do  it  by  concentrating  your  energy 
on  your  analysis.  Try  to  let  these  other 
things  take  care  of  themselves.  They  will,  if 
you  will  let  them." 

Then  I  told  him  a  dream  I  had  had,  and,  so 
absorbing,  so  detailed  and  constant,  is  the 
thought  required  by  the  work,  that  for  the  time 
being  I  was  free  from  worry.  D  R  was  right 
when  he  told  me  weeks  ago  the  work  required 
industry.  It  does,  unlimited  industry.  The 
labor  of  bringing  up  to  consciousness  the 
thousands  and  thousands  of  experiences 
and  impressions  that  have  made  up  one's 
life  is  immeasurable,  and  apparently  unend 
ing. 

When  I  began  to  write  this  evening,  I  said 
that,  perhaps,  D  R  had  told  me  about  his  talk 
with  Chief  Palmer  because  he  wanted  me  to 
hear  of  the  intentions  of  the  police  from  such 
a  source  and  in  such  a  way  that  I  would  not  be 
terrified.  That  much  is  true,  of  course.  But 
I  believe  also  he  thought  it  would  do  me  good, 
would  benefit  our  work,  if  I  knew  what  danger 
threatened  me.  He  gave  me,  so  to  speak,  an 


MES.  HARDEN' S  ORDEAL  231 

added  incentive  to  remember.  He  did  it, 
whether  he  intended  it  or  not. 

And  it  is  odd  that  the  idea  of  my  facing 
arrest  should  not  trouble  me  more  than  it  does. 
In  a  way,  contemplation  of  it  is  altogether 
horrid.  Yet,  I  believe  it  will  never  occur.  I 
am  sure,  strangely  sure,  that  my  memory 
will  come  back  to  me.  And  my  happiness? 
My  love  for  my  husband,  and  his  love  for 
me? 

Yes;  I  am  beginning  to  see  that  even  these 
things  may  yet  be  mine.  I  can  not  explain 
how  slowly  this  first  glimmer  of  real  hope 
has  dawned  upon  me.  I  can  not  even  tell 
how  very  vague  and  unformed  it  is,  even 
now.  I  still  walk  among  shadows,  and  I  can 
only  feel  the  probable  coming  of  the  light — 
just  as  one  walks  in  a  wood  before  dawn  and 
senses,  before  seeing,  the  first  gray  that 
changes  the  dark  into  a  place  peopled  with 
immense  ghosts,  ghosts  which  later  take 
on  the  semblance  of  trees  and  other  natural 
things. 

It  is  all  mixed  up,  confused,  but  I  hope! 
That  is  the  great  thing.  I  hope  for  happiness, 
just  as  I  hope  for  the  return  of  my  memory 
in  all  its  completeness. 

D  R's  patient,  untiring  work  and  struggle 


232  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

with  my  subconscious  and  my  conscious  mind 
have  done  me  good,  however  little  it  may  be 
so  far. 

I  hope — hope  vigorously. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

MY  situation  is  appalling.  Today  I  re 
tain  the  hope  for  better  things  which 
was  with  me  last  night,  but  that  very  hope 
enables  me  to  appreciate  with  all  the  more 
clearness  the  difficulties  that  beset  me.  Run 
ning  through  the  pages  I  have  already  written, 
I  realize  that  I  have  not  had  at  my  command 
language  sufficiently  vivid  or  impressive  to 
describe  adequately  what  I  have  suffered. 

This  diary  has  been  written,  is  being  written, 
by  a  nervous,  grief-stricken  woman.  I  have 
put  into  it  only  the  hurried  high  lights  that 
have  touched  me  in  the  past  few  weeks.  A 
reading  of  it  carries  hardly  any  idea  of  the 
torture  I  have  endured  through  the  long,  un- 
peaceful  days  and  the  endless,  horror-haunted 
nights.  I  have  alternated  between  the  mirage 
of  hope  and  the  unplumbed  depths  of  despair, 
and,  necessarily,  bitterness  has  characterized 
my  thoughts,  my  acts  and  all  my  words. 

I  can  not  remember  that  I  have  said  one 
kind,  considerate  thing  about  anybody  in  all 
these  chapters !  That,  of  itself,  is  awful  proof 


234  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

of  what  my  state  of  mind  has  been.  Only  the 
unutterably  sad  are  immeasurably  bitter. 

I  characterized  my  situation  just  now  as 
appalling.  It  is  particularly  so  because,  for 
the  first  time,  I  am  face  to  face  with  the  in 
exorable  truth  that,  in  order  to  make  one's 
happiness  sure  and  to  handle  the  problems  of 
life  with  success,  one  must  depend  absolutely 
upon  the  resources  of  one's  own  soul.  That 
sounds  trite.  It  is  trite.  But  how  many  peo 
ple,  most  especially  how  many  women,  realize 
its  profound  truth?  Most  of  us — and  I  have 
been  in  that  number — prefer  not  to  think,  not 
to  reason  things  out.  Thinking,  after  all,  is  an 
inconvenient  and  dangerous  thing.  It  is  so 
apt  to  hurt  our  pride  if  we  think  honestly! 

Therefore,  we  let  others  think  for  us,  form 
our  opinions  for  us,  even  shape  our  emotions 
for  us.  We  do  as  others  do,  because  it  is  so 
easy  to  run  with  the  herd.  And  yet,  I  dare 
say,  nobody  has  ever  yet  come  very  close  to  the 
stars  by  running  with  the  herd.  Fortunately, 
I  have  been  shown  how  to  think.  I  say  "  for 
tunately,"  although  that  is  still  hard  for  me  to 
say  in  strict  truth.  There  are  so  many  times, 
even  now,  when  I  am  tempted  to  long  for  soul 
indolence,  mental  lethargy,  so  as  to  escape  my 
own  responsibilities. 


MBS.  MABDEN'S  OEDEAL  235 

Had  not  a  great  need  driven  me,  I  question 
whether  I  should  ever  have  scrutinized  myself 
as  closely  as  I  have  done  recently.  In  truth, 
I  know  I  should  not  have  done  it,  but  for  the 
agonizing  need  of  it.  But  D  R  led  me  into  it, 
helped  me  with  it — and  I  believe  I  am  sincere 
when  I  say  I  am  thankful  for  all  he  has  shown 
me  about  myself. 

As  I  am  situated  today,  Society,  of  which  I 
thought  so  much,  is  in  reality  inimical  to  me, 
suspicious  of  me,  imputing  to  me  the  most  un 
worthy  motives.  I  am,  however  I  may  try  to 
deceive  myself  about  it,  a  person  watched  by 
the  police,  one  thought  capable  of  every  sort  of 
lying  in  order  to  shield  a  murderer.  Charlie, 
whom  I  have  injured  irreparably,  is  in  peril 
of  his  life  because  of  me ;  a  derelict  of  the  road 
skulks,  hidden,  while  he  sneers  in  his  confidence 
that  I  will  not  betray  the  ugly  secret  of  his 
relations  with  Marjorie.  But  that  is  not  all. 
D  R  has  taught  me  to  see  in  how  many  inde 
scribable  ways  I  have  fallen  short  in  dealing 
with  the  burdens  of  life.  That,  of  itself,  has 
been  enough  to  make  me  cry  aloud  by  day  and 
by  night. 

Finally,  I  am  separated  from  my  husband 
by  a  feeling  of  repugnance  which  I  can  not 
overcome.  How  he  feels  toward  me,  I  can  not 


236  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

tell.  How  he  will  feel  if  I  ever  am  able  to  go 
to  him  in  sweetness  and  love  again,  I  have  not 
the  slightest  idea. 

This  morning,  still  with  that  faint  glow  of 
optimism  in  my  heart,  I  said  in  sudden  impul 
siveness  to  Mildred,  "  Find  Jeffries,  will  you? 
Have  him  say  to  my  husband  that  I  would  like 
to  see  him  today,  this  morning." 

For  a  moment,  she  looked  surprised  and 
startled.  Before  she  was  out  of  the  room, 
my  mind  changed  irresistibly.  I  could  not 
follow  out  the  impulse. 

"  Never  mind,"  I  said  with  assumed  care 
lessness.  "  Not  now.  Some  other  time  will  do." 

I  could  not  have  faced  him  or  talked  to  him 
satisfactorily  if  my  life  had  depended  upon  it. 
It  is  the  truth  that,  to  all  intents  and  purposes, 
there  might  as  well  be  a  granite  wall,  mountain 
thick  and  towering  to  the  skies,  between  him 
and  me.  It  is  a  repugnance  from  which,  as 
yet,  I  have  been  unable  to  escape.  I  dare  say 
other  women  have  had  the  same  experience. 
I  can  well  understand  it. 

There  are  two  women  I  have  known  who 
remind  me  of  myself  today.  One  was  a  plain, 
matter-of-fact  person,  a  milliner,  in  a  little 
town  up  on  the  New  England  coast.  I  knew 
her  a  year  after  my  marriage,  and,  while  she 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  237 

worked  for  me,  I  used  to  talk  to  her  about 
many  different  things.  Women  of  that  class, 
I  believe,  are  more  outspoken  than  others  con 
cerning  their  views  of  life.  Perhaps,  it  is  be 
cause  they  have  so  much  more  loneliness  in 
their  lives,  and,  therefore,  feel  the  need  of  self- 
expression.  I  remember  that  she  said  to  me 
one  day: 

"  There  are  some  wives,  I  suppose,  who 
know  about  the  infidelity  of  their  husbands, 
but,  because  of  pride,  refuse  to  admit,  even  to 
their  husbands,  that  they  do  know  it." 

At  the  time,  that  shocked  me  beyond  the 
power  of  words  to  describe.  It  sounded  so 
like  the  selling  of  the  body  into  bondage.  It 
took  away  from  life  all  its  nobility,  all  its 
sweetness,  even  all  its  decency. 

But  am  I  not  a  little  like  that  woman? 

Was  not  George's  refusal  to  have  children 
as  much  of  an  infidelity  to  me,  to  my  happi 
ness,  to  my  ideals,  to  the  holiness  of  our  union, 
as  was  the  infidelity  of  that  husband  about 
whom  the  woman  talked  to  me  so  naively? 
And,  when  I  consented  to  his  demand,  did  I 
show  any  more  nobility,  any  more  independ 
ence,  any  more  decency,  than  she  did?  I  think 
not. 

Perhaps,  what  she  said  horrified  me  so  ter- 


238  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

ribly  because  I  unconsciously  recognized  in 
myself  a  danger  of  doing  as  she  had  done. 
After  all,  to  feel  horrified  is  a  means  of  guard 
ing  oneself  against  doing  wrong  things.  May 
it  not  be  possible  that  the  strict,  cruel  code  we 
women  have  against  the  sisters  who  stray  from 
the  strait  and  narrow  path  is  a  high  barrier, 
tipped  with  points  of  steel,  to  remind  us  that 
we  must  keep  within  the  inclosure?  It  may 
be  so.  That  seems  a  bitter  thing  to  say,  to  put 
down  in  black  and  white,  but  I  am  through 
with  the  soft  and  easy  things,  and  I  do  know 
now  that  in  each  of  us  there  is  a  latent  but 
tremendous  possibility  for  wickedness.  We 
all  have  need  of  the  high  barrier  tipped  with 
pointed  steel.  We  must  wall  ourselves  in 
from  evil. 

Another  woman,  a  very  good  friend  of  mine 
and  the  wife  of  an  extremely  talented  archi 
tect,  told  me  a  year  or  two  ago: 

"  John  wants  to  take  a  house  in  the  country 
for  a  year,  because  Society  wears  him  out,  cuts 
down,  he  says,  the  freshness  and  originality  in 
his  work.  I've  consented  to  it,  of  course — 
what  else  could  I  do?  But  I'm  scared  to  death 
about  it.  How  will  life  be  worth  while  out 
there,  with  just  John?  " 

Such  an  attitude  as  that  seemed  to  me  out- 


MBS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  239 

rageous.  I  recall  how  I  said  to  myself: 
"  Why,  she's  nothing  but  a  parasite  woman — 
taking  all,  giving  nothing." 

But  what  right  did  I  have  to  recoil  from  her, 
to  condemn  her  selfishness?  Am  I  not  as  much 
of  a  parasite  as  any  woman  who  ever  lived?  I 
have  produced  nothing.  I  have  no  children. 
I  have  done  no  work.  And  I  have  given 
George  nothing  worth  while — absolutely  noth 
ing.  Because  I  am  the  wife  of  a  rich  man,  I 
have  sat  at  festal  boards  and  covered  myself 
with  rich  fabrics  and  wasted  my  time  and 
energy  in  entertaining  other  men,  men  who 
now  are  either  on  their  way  to  fight  the  battles 
of  the  world  or  in  this  country  doing  the 
world's  work. 

I,  who  should  have  been  to  the  One  Man  a 
princess,  have  allowed  myself  to  become  merely 
his  plaything.  I  have  joined  the  fool's  parade 
of  silks  and  laces,  have  made  love  into  a  mock 
ery,  have  lived  as  a  very  zany  of  sentiment, 
have  tried  to  substitute  for  the  splendors  of  the 
soul  the  ugliness  of  ease  and  the  looseness  of 
luxury.  I  have  been — I  know  it  too  well — a 
traitor  to  my  destiny.  No  wonder  that  self- 
scorn  spurred  me  on  to  phantom  joys — and  no 
wonder  that  I  came  to  know  the  soul-weariness 
that  is  back  of  every  tragedy  in  the  world. 


240  MES.  MAKDEN'S  OEDEAL 

So,  I  say,  my  situation  is  appalling — I  feel 
for  myself  a  contempt  which  I  can  not  express, 
and  Society  condemns  me  on  every  side.  It 
would  be  too  appalling,  too  intolerable,  for  me 
to  contemplate  if  I  believed  it  all  had  happened 
because  of  the  inscrutable  will  of  a  divine 
providence.  People  are  apt,  many  of  them 
like,  to  sit  down  and  say,  "  This  is  Fate.  It 
had  to  happen  to  me."  I  refuse  to  say  any 
such  thing.  I  refuse  to  believe  it  of  myself  or 
of  any  unhappy  woman. 

I  know  now,  I  have  learned,  that  there  is  a 
cause  for  everything,  and  that  we  who  waver 
and  fall  in  life  have  had  horrible  things  done 
to  us  in  our  childhood,  in  those  years  supposed 
to  be  filled  only  with  the  things  which  will 
bring  forth  good  fruit  in  the  years  to  come. 
Christ,  whose  psychology  was  invariably  irre 
futable,  knew  that  figs  could  not  be  gathered 
from  thistles.  Why  do  not  people  know  it 
today?  He  said  it  two  thousand  years  ago. 
Surely,  the  world  has  had  time  to  learn  its 
truth. 

And,  if  figs  can  not  be  gathered  from 
thistles,  how  can  beautiful  lives  grow  from 
childhoods  that  have  been  made  ugly?  It  is 
the  same  thing;  it  is  the  inexorable  law  that 
the  harvest  comes  from  the  seed.  I  think  there 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  241 

should  be  a  new  law  written,  a  fresh  command 
ment,  and  it  should  read: 

"  Honor  thy  son  and  thy  daughter." 
But,  although  I  scorn  myself  and  Society 
condemns  me,  I  still  hope.  The  hope  is,  as  I 
said,  not  so  brilliant  and  dazzling  that  it  com 
forts  me,  but  it  does  hold  out  to  me  promise 
of  better  things.  If  D  R  were  to  cease  to  help 
me,  I  should  feel  utterly  without  resource.  I 
should  know  that  I  probably  would  never 
remember  the  events  of  the  night  of  the  mur 
der,  and  that  I  would  never  be  able  to  achieve 
contentment  with  my  husband. 
A  few  days  ago  I  said  to  D  R: 
"  I  know  now  that  I  should  feel  differently 
toward  George,  that  he  has  as  many  things  to 
forgive  in  me  as  I  have  in  him.  But  I  can  not 
force  myself  to  go  to  him.  There  are  times 
when  I  think  I  shall  never  be  able  to  follow  my 
convictions  as  to  what  I  should  do." 

He  explained  it  by  saying  it  is  always  hard 
for  us  to  make  our  deepest  feelings  follow  the 
behests  of  high  and  abstract  thoughts.  We 
can  think  things  out  when  we  can  not  feel 
them.  It  is  so  of  all  people  who  are  high- 
strung  and  neurotic  and  extremely  sensitive  to 
impressions. 

For  instance,  the  drunkard  knows  quite  well 


242  MES.  MAEDEX'S  OEDEAL 

that  he  should  not  get  drunk;  the  morphinist 
knows  that  she  is  degrading  her  intellect  and 
wrecking  her  good  looks  with  the  drug;  the 
gambler,  in  seeking  the  absorbing  excitement 
of  cards,  realizes  his  folly — but  they  all  go 
through  with  it  again  and  again.  They  are 
two  very  different  things,  to  plan  and  to  do, 
to  think  and  to  act.  There  is  within  us,  as  the 
result  of  the  past  years,  impulses  which  drive 
us  blindly  unless  we  stop  and  analyze  them, 
often  analyze  them  with  the  help  of  another. 

And  there  are  many  examples  of  repug 
nance,  such  as  I  feel  toward  George.  There 
have  been  great  neurotics,  I  mean  by  that  great 
men  who  were  neurotic,  and  they  have  left 
indisputable  evidence  of  the  fears  and  repug 
nances  that  preyed  upon  them  and  lessened 
their  ability.  Julius  Csesar  was  so  afraid  of 
thunderstorms  that,  whenever  they  were  rag 
ing,  he  sought  refuge  in  a  cellar.  Frederick 
the  Great  had  such  a  repugnance  to  water  that, 
whenever  he  drove  across  a  bridge,  he  did  it 
with  the  curtains  of  his  carriage  drawn,  and  in 
the  meanwhile  he  was  bathed  in  perspiration. 
Such  a  list  could  be  carried  on  almost  indefi 
nitely. 

They  all  paid  hideous  tribute  to  ugly  things 
that  entered  into  their  souls  when  they  were 


MES.  MAEBEFS  OEDEAL  243 

young,  when  they  did  not  clearly  understand, 
and  when  their  parents  did  not  understand 
them  sufficiently  to  enlighten  them.  That, 
too,  has  the  ring  of  bitterness.  But  it  has  also 
the  note  of  truth.  Do  I  not  know  it?  Have 
I  not  paid  tribute  to  my  mother's  mistakes? 

If  I  did  not  know  this,  I  should  be  entirely 
without  consolation,  without  the  hope  of  com 
fort.  I  should  resign  myself  to  sorrow  and 
discontent  for  the  rest  of  my  days.  I  should 
have  to  try  to  satisfy  myself  miserably  with 
husks — like  the  woman  who  accepted  her  hus 
band's  infidelity  without  comment — like  that 
other  woman  who  contributed  nothing  of  love 
or  helpfulness  to  her  husband. 

But  I  refuse  to  do  that.  I  know  that  D  R 
will  help  me  to  remember,  aid  me  to  right  the 
evil  effects  of  some  ugly  things  that  came  to 
me  as  a  child  and  compelled  me  to  look  at  life 
from  a  distorted  angle  and  with  an  unworthy 
purpose. 

The  cry  of  my  soul  is  for  happiness,  worthy 
happiness,  and  by  that  I  feel  that  I  shall  come 
at  last  to  peace  and  shall  solve  all  the  problems 
which  confront  me,  my  own  self-contempt  and 
the  condemnation  and  accusations  of  Society. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

'TPHIS  is  the  night  of  the  twenty-ninth  of 
•*•  November,  and  there  are  left  only  three 
days  in  which  I  may  keep  up  my  fight  to  win 
back  my  lost  memory — in  time  to  save  Charlie. 
It  seems  such  a  brief  space  in  which  to  accom 
plish  what  I  desire — such  a  little  bit  of  time  for 
the  working  out  of  this  thing  that  puzzles  me 
and  terrifies  me  by  turns. 

When  we  had  finished  our  talk  today  D  R 
said: 

"  Do  not  lose  faith.  Keep  up  the  magnifi 
cent  courage  you  have  shown  so  far.  We  shall 
succeed.  I  am  sure  of  it." 

After  that,  he  was  silent  for  a  long  time 
before  he  asked: 

"  Ruth,  if  you  regained  your  memory  of  that 
night,  and  if  what  you  remembered  incrimi 
nated  Corcoran  beyond  all  dispute,  would  you 
tell  the  truth — in  court?  " 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  asked  me  that. 
It  was,  also,  the  first  time  I  had  ever  thought 
of  it  seriously,  so  confident  have  I  been  of 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  245 

Charlie's  innocence.  It  staggered  me  for  a 
moment. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  him,  at  last;  "  I  would." 

And  I  would. 

I  have  learned  that  no  one  may  lightly  as 
sume  the  burden  of  a  lie.  I  know  now  that, 
in  the  end,  what  one  does  in  secret  one  finally 
shouts  aloud  from  the  housetops.  That  would 
be  true  of  Charlie,  if  he  were  guilty,  just  as  it 
would  of  me.  The  truth,  when  all  is  said  and 
done,  is  the  only  means  by  which  one  may  keep 
one's  hands  clean.  It  is  as  fatal  to  try  to 
deceive  others  as  it  is  to  deceive  oneself. 

And  yet,  I  am  strangely  confident  of 
Charlie's  innocence,  although  the  papers  today 
were  crowded  with  statements  of  his  guilt. 
That  was  because  the  police  yesterday  appre 
hended  the  tramp.  He  gave  his  name  as  Dan 
Higgles,  and  he  told  the  authorities  the  same 
story  he  related  to  me — that  he  had  been  in  the 
garden  the  night  of  the  murder,  that  Charlie 
rushed  from  the  veranda  and  offered  him  a 
large  sum  of  money  to  disappear,  that  he  did 
leave  the  garden  by  the  way  of  the  wall  and 
later  met  Charlie  at  the  corner  of  Seventeenth 
and  I  Streets,  receiving  from  him  two  hundred 
dollars  in  bank  notes. 

Moreover,  the  police  have  found  Uiat  the 


246  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

bartender  of  the  club  cashed,  from  the  money 
in  the  bar's  cash  register,  one  of  Charlie's 
checks  for  two  hundred  dollars,  giving  him  the 
money  in  four  fifty-dollar  bills. 

All  that,  apparently,  has  been  more  than 
sufficient  to  convince  the  police  and  the  press 
of  Charlie's  guilt.  They  have  refused  to  con 
sider  the  possibility  of  the  guilt  of  the  man 
Higgles.  Such  a  line  of  reasoning  has  not 
occurred  to  any  of  them. 

But  they  will  have  to  value  it.  D  R  has 
agreed  with  me  that  I  must  tell  the  whole  story 
of  the  tramp's  acquaintance  with  Marjorie 
when  I  go  on  the  stand,  most  particularly  the 
detailed  story  of  his  interview  with  me  when 
he  asked  me  to  keep  silent  and  when  he  burned 
the  money.  That  is,  if  I  fail  to  remember 
what  I  saw  the  night  of  the  murder. 

But  I  shall  not  fail !  On  that,  I  am  resolved. 
I  shall  make  my  great  desire  to  remember 
whip  my  mental  mechanism  into  greater 
activity.  I  refuse  to  have  that  night  wrapped 
in  darkness  and  kept  from  me.  I  am  deter 
mined  to  win  back  to  a  clear  recollection  of  it 
all.  I  want  the  fine  gold  of  those  forgotten 
hours — the  fine  gold  with  which  I  shall  buy 
back  Charlie's  freedom. 

And,  while  I  work  for  it,  I  am  not  to  be 


MES.  MAEDEX'S  OEDEAL  247 

molested.  D  R  has  obtained  from  the  chief 
of  police  his  promise  that  I  shall  not  be  ar 
rested  until  after  I  have  testified,  after  I  have 
refused  to  tell  what  I  saw  in  the  conservatory 
that  night.  The  possibility  of  arrest  has  lost 
all  terrors  for  me.  I  know  I  shall  not 
deserve  it. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

QENTENCES  from  the  newspaper  of  to- 
v.3  day,  the  thirtieth  of  November: 

"  Public  interest  in  the  trial  of  Corcoran 
transcends  all  bounds.  Literally  thousands  of 
people  are  besieging  the  authorities  for  cards 
of  admission  to  the  courtroom.  In  this  num 
ber  are  many  society  women,  and  it  is  prob 
ably  correct  to  state  that  there  is  far  more 
speculation  as  to  what  Mrs.  George  Harden 
will  say  on  the  stand  than  there  is  interest  in 
the  actual  fate  of  the  prisoner.  What  the 
beautiful  society  woman  knows  about  the 
crime,  is  so  far  a  mystery.  Nobody,  with  the 
possible  exception  of  the  accused  man's  attor 
ney,  Mr.  Rittenhouse,  has  the  least  inkling  of 
what  her  story  will  be.  .  .  . 

"  The  tramp,  Dan  Riggles  as  he  calls  him 
self,  sticks  to  his  story,  although  he  has  been 
put  through  several  severe  grillings  by  the 
police.  He  is  now  regarded  as  the  star  wit 
ness  against  the  prisoner.  .  .  . 

"  Corcoran  keeps  up  his  surprising  show  of 


MES.  MAKDKN'S  OEDEAL  249 

courage  and  optimism.  Those  at  the  jail  who 
come  into  daily  contact  with  him  declare  that 
he  feels  sure  of  acquittal  in  spite  of  the  over 
whelming  array  of  cold  facts  against  him.  .  .  . 

"  Doctor  Francis  P.  Doyle,  this  country's 
best  known  authority  on  psychiatry  and  mental 
problems,  has  been  interviewed  by  both  the 
prosecuting  attorney  and  the  counsel  for  the 
defense.  It  is  understood  that  his  testimony, 
aside  from  being  a  repetition  of  what  he  heard 
Mrs.  Harden  say  in  the  library  of  her  home 
the  night  of  the  murder,  will  throw  little  or  no 
light  on  the  facts  of  the  case.  He  will  state 
that  Mrs.  Marden  does  not,  and  can  not,  re 
member  what  she  witnessed  in  the  conserva 
tory,  the  actual  scene  of  the  crime. 

'  To  combat  this,  however,  the  prosecution 
has  called  two  celebrated  alienists  to  give  their 
opinions  as  to  whether  Mrs.  Marden's  alleged 
aphasia  could  have  lasted  for  the  brief  time  she 
claims  it  did.  .  .  . 

"  Chief  Palmer  continues  to  predict  that 
Mrs.  Marden  will  give  invaluable  evidence  for 
the  prosecution.  .  .  ." 

Instead  of  being  dismayed  by  this  notoriety, 
I  feel  within  myself  a  growing  strength,  a  fund 
of  optimism  sufficient  to  enable  me  to  keep  up 
the  work  of  trying  to  remember. 


250  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

More  and  more  I  am  impressed  with  what 
I  owe  to  D  R.  I  say  somewhere  in  this  diary 
that  he  is  a  famous  man,  famous  in  many  ways. 
But  what  is  far  more  important  is  his  reputa 
tion  among  his  fellow  men  for  probity,  in 
tegrity,  right  living.  I  doubt  that  any  other 
man  has  ever  been  so  universally  looked  up  to 
and  respected. 

I  see  now  that,  if  this  had  not  been  true,  I 
would  have  been  pursued  and  annoyed  to  dis 
traction  by  the  police.  I  know  that,  but  for 
his  standing  in  the  community,  Chief  Palmer 
would  never  have  promised  to  postpone  my 
arrest  until  the  very  last  moment,  after  my 
refusal  to  testify  at  the  trial. 

There  is  nothing  more  for  me  to  do  now 
except  hope  and  work  during  the  few  hours 
that  are  left.  D  R  worked  with  me  more  than 
two  hours  this  afternoon.  He  would  have 
devoted  more  time  to  me  but  for  the  fact  that 
it  is  impossible  to  achieve  anything  like  satis 
factory  results  after  that  length  of  time.  The 
human  brain  can  be  spurred  and  urged  and 
hurried  only  so  much.  After  that,  it  is  like 
any  other  human  machinery.  It  succumbs  to 
weariness. 

He  has  decided  that  the  best  time  for  me  to 
tell  Mr.  Rittenhouse  all  the  details  of  the 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  251 

tramp's  coming  to  see  me  will  be  the  evening 
before  the  trial — Sunday. 

"  That  is,"  said  D  R,  "  if  in  the  meantime 
you  have  not  remembered." 

I  see  plainly  that  he  is  as  confident  as  I  of 
the  ultimate  result. 

I  asked  him  this  afternoon,  "  Why  is  it  that 
I  feel  so  sure  of  success?  This  hopefulness  is 
almost  a  new  thing  with  me." 

"  It's  because,"  he  answered,  "  we  have  got 
ten  rid  of  nearly  all  the  scars  that  were  on  your 
mind  and  soul.  You  have  cast  aside  the 
weights  that  were  holding  you  down,  the  dis 
torted  ideas,  the  wrong  judgments,  all  of  them 
except  the  one  scene  of  your  childhood  which 
definitely  gave  form  to  your  neurosis.  When 
we  come  to  that,  when  some  dream  of  yours 
leads  us  to  where  that  soul  ugliness  is  hidden  in 
your  subconsciousness,  our  work  will  be 
finished." 

I  understand  that.  I  feel  as  if  the  thing  we 
are  looking  for  were  just  around  the  corner, 
and  I  about  to  come  face  to  face  with  it. 

And,  coupled  with  that  sensation,  is  my 
conviction,  now  full-grown,  that  Charlie  is 
about  to  go  free. 


CHAPTER  XXV 


A 


T  last 


At  last  I  remember  the  events  of  the 
night  of  the  murder,  and  at  last  I  possess  my 
own  soul. 

I  remember — and  the  day  after  tomorrow 
Charlie  Corcoran  is  to  take  his  place  in  the 
prisoner's  dock  before  the  world,  to  be  tried 
for  his  life.  The  contemplation  of  that  brings 
upon  me  humiliation,  an  incomparable  woe. 
When  I  think  of  it,  I  stand  aghast,  incapable 
as  yet  of  deciding  what  I  shall  do  or  say. 

I  possess  my  own  soul,  but  it  is  a  trembling, 
uncertain  possession.  At  one  moment  I  tell 
myself  that  I  shall  allow  no  outside  matters, 
no  outside  people,  to  disturb  me.  Knowing 
myself  as  I  do,  I  am  conscious  of  the  urge  to 
withdraw  myself  from  the  world,  to  preserve 
my  own  peace  of  mind. 

But  to  that  there  succeeds  the  sweeter, 
stronger  thought  that  the  world  must  mean 
more  to  me  than  ever  before,  and  that  I  shall 
attain  to  the  full  possibilities  of  myself  only  by 
living  with,  and  learning  to  love,  all  the  things 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  253 

that  are  in  the  world — the  cries  of  sorrow,  the 
cool  of  the  spring  rains,  the  evanescent  silver 
of  the  moon,  the  rose  petals  that  carpet  the 
gardens,  the  golden  hands  of  the  dawn,  the 
strains  of  solemn  music,  the  stifled  sobs,  the 
laughter  of  children,  the  hum  of  the  city,  the 
voices  of  the  warriors  who  fill  the  land — every 
thing. 

I,  Ruth  Marden,  am  myself  again,  and 
through  myself  I  must  reach  happiness.  And 
to  be  happy — what  is  it?  Quite  plainly,  but 
very  far  off,  as  it  were,  I  see  the  meaning  of 
happiness.  It  is  to  wonder  like  a  little  child, 
to  find  mystery  in  everything,  every  day, 
everywhere,  to  be  surprised  continually,  to 
clap  one's  hands  in  glee  as  every  brilliant  hour 
flashes  past.  That  is  happiness.  But,  in 
order  to  attain  to  it,  I  have  far  to  go  and  much 
to  do. 

No  woman,  I  believe,  ever  faced  such  an 
ordeal  as  that  which  confronts  me  here  in  the 
night  hours.  Upon  my  decision  rest  the  future 
of  the  accused  man,  the  happiness  of  my  hus 
band,  and  the  destruction  or  salvation  of  my 
self.  Surely,  any  one  will  understand  why  I 
weep  bitter  tears  and  am  torn  by  wonder. 

When  D  R  came  to  me  today,  I  noticed  for 
the  first  time  that  he,  like  myself,  labored  under 


254  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

a  nervous  strain.  Because  of  his  love  for  me, 
he  has  suffered  as  much  as  I  in  our  desperate 
struggle  to  bring  back  my  memory.  And  the 
time  had  grown  so  short ! 

"  Did  we  have  a  dream  last  night? "  he 
asked,  with  that  slow,  gentle  smile  which  is  so 
completely  characteristic  of  his  sweetness  of 
soul. 

'  Yes ;  one  which  I  can't  make  anything  of, 
at  all." 

Then  I  told  it  to  him. 

"  I  dreamed  that  the  President  of  the  United 
States  stood  in  the  center  of  a  room.  A  lark 
flew  toward  him,  and  he  smiled  at  it,  but  it 
suddenly  turned  into  a  big  bird  like  a  vulture, 
with  a  funny  beak  like  a  pin.  Also  it  was  a 
red-headed  bird.  It  was  the  funniest  thing — 
her  head,  instead  of  being  covered  by  feathers, 
had  on  it  human  hair,  red  hair.  She  fought 
the  President,  who  only  smiled  as  she  tore  at 
his  face  with  her  beak  until  the  blood  came. 
This  made  me  furious — I  had  been  standing 
near  watching — and  I  suddenly  grasped  the 
vulture,  and  caught  the  neck  and  tore  off  the 
wings,  killing  her." 

'  Well,"  he  said,  pacing  to  and  fro,  as  he 
always  does  when  thinking  intently,  "  what 
does  the  dream  bring  up  in  your  mind?  " 


MRS.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL  255 

"  Nothing,"  I  answered.  "  I've  been  all 
over  it,  and  the  result  is  a  blank — nothing." 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  this  is  a  big  dream. 
I  believe  a  lot  of  your  childhood  is  mixed  up  in 
it.  Try  to  think — something.  Anything?  " 

I  got  the  idea  that  he  was  deeply  impressed 
with  what  I  had  told  him,  that  he  thought  we 
were  about  to  put  our  hands  on  what  had  been 
to  me,  as  a  child,  a  tremendous  experience. 
Somehow,  I  had  the  same  formless  idea  my 
self;  and  it  frightened  me,  awed  me. 

"  I  have  an  impression,  some  sort  of  an  im 
pression,"  I  answered,  absorbed,  my  voice 
strangely  like  that  of  one  who  reports  to  others 
on  the  outside  progress  being  made  in  the  ex 
ploration  of  a  dark  room,  "  about  something 
that  happened  at  night." 

I  paused,  still  striving  to  rescue  something 
from  the  domain  of  my  subconsciousness. 

;'  Take  the  vulture's  beak,"  he  suggested. 
'  That  was  a  most  unusual  beak  for  a  vulture 
to  have,  like  a  pin." 

Still,  I  made  no  answer. 
'  Think — does  a  pin  remind  you  of  any 
thing?  " 

I  suddenly  sat  bolt  upright. 

"  Oh,  D  R!  I  believe  I  remember.  It  was 
at  night,  and  there  was  something  about  a  red- 


256  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

headed  woman — something  my  mother  said  to 
my  father. — Now,  I  wonder  what  it  was." 

He  stood  still,  keyed  to  the  top  pitch  of 
mental  alertness.  He  looked  like  a  man  on 
the  edge  of  a  great  discovery. 

'  Think,"  he  encouraged  me.  '  What  was 
it?" 

"  I  was  standing  in  the  door  of  a  room  that 
was  our  parlor  or  living-room.  That  was  so 
long  ago!  I  must  have  been  only  five  years 
old — for  the  room  in  the  dream  is  the  one  that 
was  in  our  old  house,  down  on  K  Street,  and 
we  moved  away  from  there  before  I  was  six." 

He  waited  silently  while  I  groped,  seeking 
the  fragments  of  a  mental  picture  more  than 
twenty  years  old. 

"  I  was  barefooted  and  I  had  on  my  night 
gown.  I  was  a  little  bit  of  a  thing.  I  re 
member  my  mother  was  quarreling  with  my 
father — and,  oh!  I  was  sucking  my  thumb, 
and  I  was  standing  at  the  door — and  they 
didn't  see  me.  It  all  comes  back  now.  It's 
very  clear." 

"  Go  on,"  he  instructed  me,  beginning  again 
to  pace  the  floor. 

"  I  can  hear  my  mother  now  screaming  at 
my  father,"  I  continued,  and  immediately, 
struck  by  a  new  idea,  I  exclaimed:  "  That  is 


MBS.  MABDEN'S  OEDEAL  267 

how  my  fearful  impulse  to  scream  aloud  was 
caused!  " 

"  Of  course,"  he  agreed.  "  And  you  realize 
now  that  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
have  such  an  impulse  simply  because  you  heard 
your  mother,  an  angry  woman,  do  it  twenty 
years  ago." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  see  now." 

"  What  else  do  you  remember?  "  he  brought 
me  back  to  the  story  with  more  than  his  usual 
hurry. 

"She  was  screaming  at  my  father  and  up 
braiding  him  about  his  attentions  to  another 
woman — a  red-haired  woman.  She  said  he 
had  bought  the  woman  a  pin,  a  gold  pin. 
That's  what  brought  up  the  scene  in  my  mind, 
the  mention  of  the  pin.  And  I  can  see  myself 
now,  stamping  my  foot  and  being  very  angry 
with  my  mother.  I  was  sorry  for  my  father. 
I  remember  I  cried  when  my  father,  unable  to 
endure  her  abuse  any  longer,  left  the  room  and 
the  house.  I  remember  I  stamped  my  foot 
and  screamed,  '  He's  gone  out!  He's  gone 
out!'" 

"  That,"  D  R  injected  quickly,  "  was  what 
you  said  that  night,  the  night  you  came  into 
the  library  after  finding  Marjorie's  body." 

"Oh,  did  I?" 


258  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

He  regarded  me  for  a  moment. 

"  Do  you  remember  what  you  thought  when 
you  witnessed  this  ill-treatment  of  your  father 
by  your  mother? " 

'  Yes ;  I  wanted  to  strike  her.  I  thought  if 
it  was  all  right  for  her  to  fight  with  him,  it 
was  all  right  for  me  to  fight  with  her." 

"  How  illuminating  that  is!  "  he  said  swiftly. 
"  How  perfectly  it  accounts  for  the  rebellious 
ness,  the  impulse  to  fight  back  because  of  a 
wrong,  real  or  imaginary — the  impulse  which 
has  troubled  you  so. 

"  Now,  I  can  give  you  one  meaning,  the 
superficial  meaning,  of  the  dream.  You 
know  enough  about  dream  symbolisms  to  real 
ize  that  in  all  dreams  the  President,  or  a  gov 
ernor,  or  anybody  in  authority  is  symbolical  of 
your  father — so  the  President  in  this  dream 
was  in  reality  your  father." 

"  I  see  that,  of  course,"  I  said  readily. 

"  Now,  your  mother  should  have  been  at  all 
times  to  your  father  the  impersonation  of  hap 
piness  and  delight — that  is,  the  lark  in  the 
dream.  But  the  night  she  quarreled  with 
him  she  became  the  vulture  and  made  him 
suffer. 

"  When  the  vulture  made  your  father — the 
President — suffer,  you,  in  your  childish  anger, 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  259 

wanted  to  punish  your  mother.  Don't  you 
see?  Last  night,  by  means  of  your  dream, 
when  you  killed  the  vulture,  you  carried  out 
the  suppressed  impulse  you  had  had  twenty 
years  ago.  In  reality,  what  you  did  in  the 
dream  was  to  punish  your  mother." 

"How  wonderful  that  is!"  I  drew  in  my 
breath  sharply,  realizing  the  unmistakable 
truth  of  what  he  said. 

"  But  the  dream  means  a  lot  more,"  he  took 
up  the  inquiry.  "  Now,  that  beak  like  a  pin — 
there  must  be  something  else  in  your  mind 
about  a  pin." 

I  started  slightly.  I  could  not  tell  why,  but 
somewhere,  far  back  in  my  brain,  there 
sounded  the  drums  of  fear.  Other  important 
revelations  had  caused  the  same  effect  upon  me. 
It  was  as  if  an  unpleasant  thought  heralded  its 
approach,  saying,  "  Prepare  to  meet  me,  since 
you  called! " 

D  R  questioned  me  again. 

'  What  does  the  pin  suggest  to  you?  " 

I  was  silent  several  moments.  He  sat  down 
opposite  me. 

"  What  was  your  thought  then,  Ruth?  " 

I  still  was  silent. 

"  Remember,  you  promised  to  tell  me  every 
thing." 


260  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

"  Well,"  I  complied  with  a  reluctance  I 
could  not  understand,  "  a  pin — a  pin  I 
lost." 

"  Where?     Where  did  you  lose  a  pin?  " 

"  I  suppose,"  I  said,  reluctance  yet  in  my 
voice,  "  I  have  lost  a  great  many  pins — several 
gold  pins." 

'  Then,"  he  put  in  swiftly,  "  this  particular 
pin  was  a  gold  pin?  " 

"  Yes — a  gold  pin." 

'  Well,  where  was  it?  "  he  asked,  the  shadow 
of  insistence  in  his  manner.  "  Where  did  you 
lose  it?  " 

The  unpleasant  thought  had  come! 

"  I  lost  it  the  night — the  night  I  found  Mar- 
jorie  in  the  conservatory,"  I  replied  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  So  the  dream  has  in  it  something  about 
Marjorie? " 

"  I  don't  think  so." 

My  answer  was  unconsciously  nervous  and 
quick. 

"  But,"  he  said  authoritatively,  "  it  reminded 
you  of  the  pin  you  lost  that  night? " 

'  Yes,"  I  agreed,  strangely  monosyllabic. 

His  questions  became  more  rapid. 

'  What  else  did  it  remind  you  of — this 
dream? " 


MBS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  261 

"  People  with  red  hair,"  I  said  with  nervous 
spontaneity.  '  You  see,  there  was  a  red 
headed  bird,  meaning  of  course  a  red-Jjeaded 
woman,  in  the  dream — and  my  mother  had 
red  hair." 

"  What  people  with  red  hair  are  you  think 
ing  about  now? " 

"  Red-haired  people  generally." 

"  Marjorie,"  he  pursued  the  relentless  quest, 
"  had  red  hair." 

"  No,"  I  argued;  "  Marjorie  didn't.  Hers 
was  auburn  hair." 

"  But,"  he  suggested,  "  to  all  intents  and 
purposes,  red." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  I  answered  quietly. 

He  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  floor 
again. 

"  Ruth,"  he  asked  with  rapid  utterance, 
"  did  you  ever  think — did  you  ever  wish  Mar 
jorie  Nesbit  dead? "  He  waved  his  hand, 
deprecating  the  harshness  of  the  idea.  "  I  don't 
mean  that  you  ever  laid  a  deliberate  plan  for 
her  death,  but  did  such  a  fantasy  ever  cross 
your  mind? " 

"  No!  "  I  said,  astonished. 

"  Never? " 

I  reflected,  and  shivered,  thinking  for  the 
moment  of  Charlie. 


262  MBS.  HARDEN' S  OEDEAL 

"  Oh,  well,"  I  explained,  "  if  it  did,  it  was 
just  something  that  flashed  through  my  mind, 
and  I  put  it  away  from  me." 

"  Of  course,"  he  assented,  "  but  was  this 
fantasy  ever  strong  enough  to  make  you  think 
that  you  would  be  glad  of  her  death — that 
you  might  not  punish  anybody  who  brought 
it  about? " 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  replied  instantly. 

"  If  it  had  been  a  strong  mental  picture,  this 
idea  that  Marjorie's  death  would  benefit  you, 
it  would  have  provided  you  with  a  motive  for 
forgetting,  forgetting  so  that  you  might  pro 
tect  anybody  who  actually  harmed  her — or 
even  killed  her.  Do  you  see?  " 

'  Very  clearly." 

'  Then  think;  please.  Does  this  dream  of 
your  attacking  a  red-headed  bird — really  a 
red-headed  woman  who  may  have  been  Mar- 
jorie — does  it  bring  into  your  mind  anything 
more  about  Marjorie? " 

'  There  is  nothing  more  about  Marjorie, 
D  R,"  I  said  confidently,  "  absolutely  nothing 
more." 

"  But  there  must  fye,"  he  held  me  to  the  sub 
ject. 

"  Oh,"  I  said  with  a  touch  of  petulance,  "  I 
just  know  that  I  hated  Marjorie  because  I 


MRS.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL  263 

thought  George  loved  her.  It  was  just  like 
a  lot  of  the  other  ugly  ideas  I  had.  Don't  you 
see?  Don't  you  see  how  my  hatred  of  her  was 
wrapped  up  in  all  my  life  and  came  out  in  this 
dream? " 

"I  see  it  quite  plainly,"  he  agreed,  and 
paused.  "  Ruth,  are  you  trying  to  keep  from 
me  anything  about  that  night? " 

"  No." 

"  Are  you  trying  to  shield  anybody  by  your 
silence? " 

"  Shield  anybody?  "  I  asked  in  bewilder 
ment. 

"  Corcoran,  for  instance." 

"  D  R,  you  know  I  wouldn't  keep  from  you 
anything  that's  in  my  mind." 

"  But  don't  you  see,"  he  spoke  gently  but 
with  irresistible  persuasiveness,  "  that,  as  you 
punished  your  mother  in  the  dream,  you  also 
punished  Marjorie?  There  are  wrapped  up 
in  the  dream  two  red-haired  women,  your 
mother  and  Marjorie.  Now,  think  of  this:  is 
it,  or  isn't  it,  possible  that,  in  attacking  Mar 
jorie  in  the  dream,  you  tacitly  endorsed  the  act 
of  the  person  who  really  did  punish  her — kill 
her? " 

"  Of  course,"  I  said. 

For  the  moment  my  mind  was  utterly  blank, 


264  MES.  MAEDEN'S  ORDEAL 

as  if  a  thousand  ideas  strove  for  the  mastery  of 
it,  and  none  could  prevail. 

'  What  are  you  thinking  about? "  he  de 
manded  sharply. 

'  The  vulture's  beak,  like  a  pin — it  was  the 
shape  of  the  pin  I  lost  that  night,  and  it  was 
the  shape  of  Charlie's  fingers  when  he  stood 
there  in  the  library,  holding  out  his  hands  as 
if  he  grasped  her  neck  with  his  writhing  fin 
gers — that  idea  of  choking." 

"  Think! "  he  urged.  "  She  was  choked  to 
death." 

The  drums  of  fear  thundered  close  upon  me. 
The  silent  spaces  of  my  brain  were  in  an  up 
roar  that  had  no  voice. 

"  Think!  "  he  said  again.  "  The  red-haired 
woman  choked  to  death,  the  loss  of  your  pin, 
the  shape  of  your  pin,  your  rushing  into  the 
library  and  saying,  as  you  said  twenty  years 
ago,  '  He's  gone  out ! '  Tell  me  the  first  idea 
that  comes  to  you." 

"Oh,  Charlie!" 

I  sprang  from  my  chair  and  stood  erect, 
facing  him.  I  know  panic  twisted  my  face. 
I  know  terror  was  in  my  eyes. 

"Oh-h-h-h!" 

It  was  as  if  the  low  moan  had  been  drawn 
from  me  by  barbed  hooks. 


MRS.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL  265 

I  flung  my  arms  upward,  the  fingers,  each 
wide  from  the  other,  writhing. 

He  caught  my  hands  and,  pulling  them 
down,  held  them  in  his  own  strong  grasp.  My 
figure  stiffened.  I  felt  frozen,  lifeless — and 
knew  that  fright  flourished  in  my  eyes. 

"  What  is  it,  Ruth?  "  his  cool,  strong  voice 
struck  upon  my  consciousness. 

As  suddenly  as  I  had  risen,  I  sank  back  into 
the  chair,  taking  my  hands  from  his  to  cover 
my  face. 

"Oh-h-h-h!" 

I  moaned  again. 

He  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  and  spoke 
again  in  the  same  cool,  low  voice:  "  Tell  me." 

I  wrung  my  hands  one  against  the  other, 
my  body  swaying  from  side  to  side,  my  head 
bowed.  I  did  not  look  up  to  him. 

"  How — how  did  I  forget? "  I  asked,  the 
echo  of  the  tortured  moan  still  in  my  voice. 
"  How? " 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said  inflexibly. 

'  Why  haven't  I  known  all  along — all  this 
time? "  I  reproached  myself  for  my  own 
misery. 

"  Known  what?  "  he  demanded  imperiously. 

"  Oh-h-h-h!  "  Anguish  would  not  give  me 
up.  "Oh-h!  Out  of  my  own  mouth!" 


266  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

He  stepped  back  from  me,  like  one  relieved. 
He  thought  the  battle  had  been  won. 

"  Say  it,  Ruth,"  he  told  me  tenderly. 

I  rose  from  the  chair  and  crouched  back 
against  my  desk.  My  hands  came  down  slowly 
and  fell  limply  against  the  edge  of  the  desk. 
I  cowered  there  fully  a  minute,  trembling  like 
the  stem  of  a  rose  that  is  bent  by  the  wind.  I 
looked  at  him  out  of  hopeless,  dreary  eyes. 

'  You  know !  "  I  whispered  hoarsely.  "  I 
did  kill  her!" 

"  You  killed  her!  "  he  exclaimed. 

His  astonishment  was  boundless.  I  realize 
now  that  he  looked  as  if,  for  the  first  time  in 
all  the  years  he  had  spent  exploring  the  souls 
of  men  and  women,  he  had  come  upon  a  hidden 
thing  that  swept  him  off  his  feet.  It  was  as  if, 
in  opening  a  door  to  liberate  creatures  which 
he  wished  to  go  free,  there  had  leaped  past  him 
a  monster  too  horrible  for  him  to  look  at  in 
the  light  of  day. 

The  drums  crashed  in  my  ears.  I  was  being 
trampled  by  huge,  monstrous  spirits  and 
shapes.  It  was  like  being  whipped  by  hail, 
bruised  by  great  winds. 

I  besought  him.  "  Oh,  what  made  me  kill 
her?  Why  did  I  find  her  that  night  in  the 
conservatory?  Why  was  it  so  terribly  easy 


MRS.  HARDEN' S  ORDEAL  267 

for  me  to  go  up  behind  her  and  put  out  my 
hands  and  crush  the  life  out  of  her?  " 

He  got  control  of  himself. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  Ruth." 

He  drove  his  voice  to  its  natural  pitch  as  he 
forced  me  into  the  chair  again. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  at  all." 

He  knelt  beside  me  and  put  his  arm  round 
me. 

"  I'll  tell  you  why,"  he  said,  trying  with 
words  to  keep  me  from  going  more  to  pieces— 
which  was  useless,  for  horror  held  me  taut  and 
stiff,  and  dry-eyed.  "  It  is  what  we've  already 
learned — the  sins  of  the  parents  upon  the  chil 
dren.  Every  child  has  a  right  to  have  its 
little  life  started  on  the  great  voyage  under 
purple  sail  and  with  jeweled  helm.  But  this 
was  denied  you.  And  there  had  to  come  the 
harvest  home  of  the  ugly  scene  that  colored 
your  whole  life.  That  is  all.  You  must  not 
despise  yourself.  You  must  not  abase  your 
self,  must  not  surrender  to  fear." 

"  But  Charlie!     Why  did  I  say  he  did  it? " 

'  That  was  a  twist  of  your  subconscious 
mind.  You  had  done  something  too  horrible 
to  admit  to  your  real,  conscious  self.  It  was 
in  terrific  conflict  with  all  your  finer  instincts 
and  ideals.  So,  unconsciously,  in  the  wild 


268  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

whirl  of  your  thoughts,  you  grasped  at  a  way 
of  escape.  In  fact,  the  way  had  been  pre 
pared,  for  in  your  conscious  moments  you  had 
seen  Corcoran  go  through  the  pantomime  of 
choking — of  doing  what  you  did.  Subcon 
sciously  you  acquitted  yourself  by  transferring 
the  guilt  to  him.  After  that — and  only  after 
that — could  you  come  back  to  possession  of 
your  faculties.  It  is  a  mental  mechanism  that 
frequently  occurs." 

Suddenly  I  wept.  For  the  first  time  since 
the  tragedy  I  shed  real  tears.  The  thunderous 
noise  was  still  in  my  ears,  the  unearthly  storm 
still  beat  me  down.  I  think  I  cried,  just  as  a 
child,  caught  in  a  hurricane,  might  lie  down  on 
the  ground  in  the  mud  and  shriek  with  a  terror 
too  vast  and  too  nameless  for  it  to  understand. 

"  But  you  are  guilty  of  nothing,"  D  R's 
voice  came  to  me  indistinctly.  '  You  didn't 
even  know  anything  about  it.  You  are  no 
more  responsible  for  the  death  of  Marjorie 
Nesbit — understand  me,  Ruth — you  are  no 
more  responsible  for  it  than  was  your  dead 
mother." 

That  made  no  definite  impression  upon  me. 
I  remember  that  no  clear  idea  remained  in  my 
mind.  The  great  noises  continued.  And 
across  my  mind  there  seemed  to  sweep  huge 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  269 

dark  clouds,  each  one  ugly  with  ruin,  all  of 
them  pressing  me  down  with  an  immense 
weight — and  I  looked  at  the  clouds,  finding 
them  confused,  benumbing,  a  moving  manu 
script  of  agony  so  universal  and  all-enveloping 
that  I  could  appreciate  no  one  feature,  no  one 
phase  of  it. 

My  gasping,  frightened  sobs  lifted  me  up 
and  almost  tore  me  from  the  circle  of  his  arm. 

'  What  is  to  become  of  me? "  I  moaned  at 
last.  "  What  shall  I  do?  " 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

BUT  he  did  not  tell  me  what  to  do.     I  think 
he  knew  that,  in  reality,  I  did  not  want 
him  to  tell  me. 

He  went  to  the  fireplace  and  stood  there, 
silent  a  long  time  before  he  spoke. 

"  We  all  are  fond  of  saving  we  are  the 

»/          c? 

masters  of  our  fates.  We  prate  about  free 
will.  And  yet,  how  little  we  know  of  what  we 
say.  For  your  own  sake,  for  the  sake  of  others, 
you  must  appreciate  this  great  truth: 

"  All  of  us  come  into  the  world  endowed 
with  freedom  of  will,  crowned  with  the  glory 
of  doing  as  we  choose.  But  this  free  will,  this 
divine  independence,  may  be  taken  from  us, 
today,  yesterday,  or  tomorrow.  Although  one 
may  burst  upon  life  with  the  feet  of  one's  soul 
leaping  for  joy  and  the  hands  of  one's  soul 
overflowing  with  flowers,  ugliness  can,  and 
does,  put  upon  the  feet  the  chains  of  futility, 
upon  the  hands  the  manacles  of  weakness. 

"  And  this  is  not  the  doctrine  of  blind  sub- 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  271 

mission  to  circumstance.  It  is  not  to  say  that 
we  may  surrender  weakly,  refuse  to  fight  for 
higher  things.  It  is  merely  the  emphasis  of 
our  duty — that  we  must  struggle  always,  for 
ever  be  on  our  guard  to  prevent  ourselves 
from  being  stripped  of  strength  in  the  tumul 
tuous  business  of  living  rightly." 

I  felt  that  he  talked  to  me,  not  only  to  fortify 
my  courage,  but  also  to  give  me  time  to  con 
sider  my  n<ew  situation.  I  knew  as  well  as  he 
did  that,  in  coming  upon  that  frightful  scene 
between  my  mother  and  father,  we  had  un 
earthed  the  thing  that  had  distorted  my  char 
acter,  wounded  my  soul. 

He  said  as  much. 

'  You  learned  the  most  tragic  lesson  that 
can  come  to  childhood :  how  to  hate.  And  you 
learned  it  from  your  mother,  which,  of  itself, 
persuaded  you  that  hate  must  be  permissible, 
since  you  saw  it  in  one  who  personified  to  you 
all  authority.  Then,  when  the  love  instinct  of 
your  adult  years  was  outraged  by  your  jeal 
ousy  of  Marjorie,  the  wound  of  your  childhood 
joined  forces  with  the  wound  of  your  woman 
hood.  That  is  all — that  simple  proposition: 
That  a  warped  childhood  is  to  contribute  in 
later  years  to  a  warped  and  tragic  woman 
hood." 


272  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

He  paused.  My  sobs  had  ceased,  but  I  said 
nothing. 

"  One  more  thing,"  he  added,  as  if  he  tried 
to  soothe  with  loving  speech  the  pain  of  my 
soul:  "  with  love  in  your  heart,  you  possess 
the  key  to  all  the  good  things  life  has  to  give. 
I  want  to  tell  you  a  little  story  which  should 
guide  you  throughout  all  the  rest  of  your 
life. 

"  It's  an  old  Buddhist  story.  A  robber 
chief,  the  wickedest  man  who  ever  had  lived  in 
the  world,  had  spent  eons  in  hell,  and  one  day 
he  looked  up  to  Buddha  in  heaven  and  begged 
for  release.  Buddha  asked  him  to  think  if  he 
could  recollect  having  done  one  kind  or  lovely 
thing  in  all  his  life.  He  thought  for  a  thou 
sand  years,  and  at  last  remembered  that  one 
day,  while  walking  in  the  forest,  he  had  seen  a 
spider  in  his  path  and  had  neglected  to  crush 
out  its  life. 

'  Very  well,'  said  Buddha,  and  he  made  the 
spider  spin  a  web  and  drop  the  end  of  it  all 
the  way  from  heaven  into  hell,  so  that  the 
wicked  man  might  climb  on  it  up  to  heaven. 
He  climbed  a  great  way,  but,  when  he  felt  the 
web  quiver,  he  looked  down  and  saw  that  many 
other  tortured  souls  were  climbing  out  of  hell 
on  the  same  web.  Frightened  for  himself  and 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  273 

afraid  the  web  might  break  and  drop  him  back 
into  hell,  he  shouted  to  them  to  get  off — and 
immediately  the  thread  broke,  and  he  himself 
fell  back  into  hell. 

'  That  is  all  you  have  to  remember,  Ruth. 
Love  of  self  is  the  suicide  of  the  soul.  Service, 
the  service  of  others,  is  the  ladder  by  which  we 
may  climb." 

He  was  silent  again.  At  last,  the  drums 
thundered  no  longer  in  my  ears,  and  the 
clouded  horror  lifted  somewhat  from  my  mind. 

I  looked  up  to  him  and  met  his  eyes. 

"  I  suppose,"  I  said,  in  almost  my  natural 
voice,  "  I  shall  be  arrested." 

I  was  conscious  of  his  ineffable  sympathy. 
It  was  like  the  laying  on  of  hands. 

'  What  do  you  propose  to  do?  "  he  asked. 

I  got  to  my  feet  quite  steadily. 

"  Leave  me  by  myself,  D  R,"  I  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "  I  want  to  think.  I  want  to  make 
up  my  own  mind  about  my  own  actions." 

"  It  is  the  brave  thing  to  do,"  he  agreed 
gently. 

He  took  both  my  hands  in  his  and  held  them 
several  moments  before  he  went  to  the  door. 
As  he  turned  the  knob,  he  said,  "  Call  me  at 
my  office  if  you  want  me  this  afternoon." 

"  Thank  you,  D  R,"  I  answered  simply. 


274  MES.  MAKDEN'S  OBDEAL 

"  I  think  just  now  my  business  is  only  with 
myself." 

When  he  had  gone,  I  sat  very  still,  looking 
into  the  fire.  I  had  a  sense  of  feeling  very 
alert,  listening,  to  see  whether  Mildred  would 
come  in.  I  did  not  want  her  to  come  in.  I 
resented  the  necessity  of  even  telling  her  to  go 
away.  Then  I  remembered  that  this  was  her 
afternoon  off,  and  I  was  immensely  relieved. 
I  was  greedy  of  the  solitude  and  quiet.  I  felt 
the  overwhelming  need  of  communing  with 
myself. 

After  a  long  time,  I  got  up  and  moved  to 
the  window.  I  could  see  the  street,  the  asphalt 
almost  white  in  the  clear,  cold  light  of  the 
afternoon  sun.  A  young  girl  on  roller  skates 
flashed  past  my  section  of  vision,  and  I  thought 
oddly  that  I  had  never  before  noticed  how 
graceful  a  young  girl  looks  in  the  wavy,  un 
dulating  motion  of  skating. 

I  thought  of  George,  and  all  at  once  I  was 
consumed  with  longing  to  be  near  him,  to  have 
him  near  me.  I  stood  at  the  window  and 
whispered  to  myself — things  about  George, 
about  his  kindness  to  me,  about  his  patience 
with  my  whims.  I  remembered  that  he  liked 
red  roses,  that  he  had  once  told  me  the  only 
jewel  I  should  ever  wear  was  a  big  red  rose 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OKDEAL  275 

at  my  breast.  No  thought  of  Marjorie  or 
Mrs.  Tarone  came  to  me.  I  had  no  feeling  of 
resentment  toward  him — only  longing  to  put 
my  head  on  his  shoulder.  That  image  of  my 
self  with  my  head  on  his  shoulder  persisted  in 
my  mind.  I  wanted  to  fall  asleep  with  my 
head  on  his  shoulder,  his  arm  around  me. 

The  bell-button  was  close  by.  I  put  out  my 
hand  to  touch  it,  to  send  for  him,  and  I  re 
membered  Marjorie. 

I  know  now  why  a  man  condemned  to  the 
scaffold  calmly  eats  his  morning  meal  on  the 
day  of  execution.  I  know  now  why  he  neither 
laughs  nor  weeps.  Neither  laughing  nor 
weeping  nor  protestation  will  mean  anything, 
or  accomplish  anything,  or  change  anything. 
He  has  come  at  last  face  to  face  with  the 
illimitable  cruelty  of  life.  He  can  do  nothing 
but  submit  because  in  the  narrow  avenues  of 
his  brain  there  live  no  agents  strong  enough  or 
tricky  enough  to  cope  with  tragedy.  He  is 
numb  because  he  is  at  the  end  of  all  things. 

I  felt  like  that,  just.  I  went  back  and  sat 
down  in  front  of  the  fire,  and  I  talked  aloud  to 
myself,  trying  to  form  some  idea  of  what  I  had 
done.  I  remember  I  kept  saying  to  myself, 
sometimes  hearing  the  words,  sometimes  re 
peating  them  entirely  mechanically: 


276  MRS.  MAEDEN'S  ORDEAL 

"  I  killed  her.  I  am  very  sorry.  I  killed 
her  out  of  hate.  I  am  sure  I  didn't  mean  to 
kill  her.  I  killed  her.  I  am  sure  I  didn't 
mean  to  kill  her." 

No  tears  came  to  my  eyes.  No  sobs  rose 
to  my  throat.  I  wondered  why  that  was. 
Then  I  decided  that  only  cowardly  natures 
could  devote  hours  to  meaningless  tears  and 
empty  lamentations.  It  was  the  right  thing, 
I  told  myself,  to  face  what  I  had  done  and  to 
decide  what  I  had  to  do. 

On  the  heels  of  that,  a  black,  awful,  un 
mitigated  remorse  descended  upon  me.  There 
are  no  words  to  carry  the  weight  of  the  sorrow 
that  beat  me  down,  no  phrases  to  convey  a 
picture  of  how  I  recoiled  from  myself,  and 
scourged  myself.  As  with  George,  so  with 
her,  there  trooped  through  my  brain  memories 
of  pleasant  hours  we  had  spent  together,  years 
at  school,  an  evening  at  the  theatre,  an  after 
noon  at  golf.  The  special  point  of  my  suffer 
ing  was  that  I  had  enjoyed  so  much  with  her, 
and  finally  had  killed  her — killed  her. 

I  went  into  my  bedroom  and  walked  slowly 
to  the  dressing  table,  where  I  stood  a  long  time, 
fingering  the  various  articles  on  it.  My  reflec 
tion  in  the  mirror  looked  quite  natural.  That 
surprised  me  in  a  dull,  unimportant  way.  I 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  277 

left  the  bedroom  and  went  back  to  the  fire.  I 
desperately  wanted  to  view  my  situation  as  a 
whole,  to  take  in  all  the  details  of  the  monstrous 
catastrophe — George,  and  Marjorie,  and  the 
police. 

A  picture  of  prison  flashed  upon  me,  and 
left  me  undisturbed.  For  the  moment,  I  ac 
cepted  it  quite  as  a  matter  of  course  that  I  must 
suffer,  suffer  horribly,  and  give  thanks  for  the 
suffering. 

"  But,"  I  said  aloud,  "  I  must  tell  George. 
He  will  never  love  me.  Men  don't  love  women 
who  murder  and  go  to  prison.  Women,  if 
they  love,  keep  on  loving  their  men  when  they 
go  to  prison.  A  woman  has  no  moral  sense 
where  her  man  is  involved.  But  men  are  dif 
ferent,  different." 

After  that,  I  was  still  for  a  long,  long  time. 
When  I  roused  myself,  the  room  was  dark.  I 
stirred  the  fire,  and  thought  of  Charlie.  Until 
then,  I  think,  I  had  tried  not  to  think  of  him 
at  all. 

I  sprang  up  and  ran  into  the  bedroom  and 
threw  myself  on  the  bed.  I  lay  there,  trem 
bling  a  little,  my  wide  eyes  questioning  the 
dark.  How  little  I  was!  How  little  we  all 
are!  For  weeks  I  had  busied  myself  in  an 
absurd  fashion,  thinking  highly  of  myself  be? 


278  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

cause  I  was  trying  to  remember  the  facts  about 
the  murder,  so  that  I  might  help  Charlie.  I 
had  even  gone  to  the  jail  and  paraded  before 
him  my  pride  in  trying  to  help  him  out  of  the 
trouble  to  which  I  had  brought  him. 

And  all  the  time  he  knew  I  had  killed  Mar- 
jorie!  That  is  why  he  said  nothing.  It  is 
why  he  was  so  confident  of  his  own  acquittal. 
It  is  why  he  compromised  himself  so  foolishly 
in  giving  the  tramp  the  money.  Charlie  saw 
me  commit  the  murder.  The  stupendous 
nature  of  his  sacrifice,  the  gorgeous  quality  of 
his  service  to  me,  made  me  cry  aloud,  over  and 
over:  "  How  little  I  am!  How  little  I  am! " 

From  that,  a  feeling  of  unutterable  humility 
came  upon  me.  It  is  still  in  my  heart.  I  felt 
that  I  could  do  only  the  right  thing,  the  just 
thing,  the  fair  thing.  But,  if  I  confessed, 
what  of  George? — what  of  my  indescribable 
longing  to  possess  once  more  his  love? 

Instead  of  answering  that,  I  came  back  here 
to  my  desk  and  began  to  write.  I  have  been 
writing  for  hours.  It  is  very  late,  and  I  am 
so  exhausted  that  I  can  hardly  hold  the  pen 
between  my  fingers,  exhausted  emotionally  as 
well  as  physically.  I  can  not  think  con 
nectedly.  That,  I  suppose,  is  well.  I  do  not 
want  to  think  any  more  tonight.  I  am  going 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  279 

to  sleep  with  the  belief  that  tomorrow  I  shall 
awake  and  follow  the  path  that  leads  to  ex 
piation,  it  matters  not  at  all  how  steep  or  how 
crowded  with  thorns  it  may  be.  I  shall  follow 
it  to  the  end. 

Through  my  window,  with  its  curtains  still 
undrawn,  I  can  look  up  and  see  the  stars. 
How  far  away  they  are — how  far! 

And  "  one  star  differeth  from  another  star 
in  glory."  And  one  soul  differeth  from  an 
other  soul  in  strength.  I  wish  the  world  had 
discovered  that  long  ago.  I  wish  my  mother 
had  known  it  twenty  years  ago. 

I  am  so  tired,  and  tomorrow  I  must  be  so 
strong! 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

SLEEP,  however,  did  not  come  to  me.  In 
stead,  my  mind  was  busy  with  two 
thoughts:  I  had  killed  a  human  being,  and  I 
had  killed  my  husband's  love.  I  could  not 
persuade  myself  that  George  would  ever  again 
love  me  as  he  had  done  in  the  past.  I  could 
not  even  invent  with  plausibility  to  myself 
any  reason  why  he  should  love  me. 

When  the  dawn  came,  I  could  lie  still  no 
longer.  I  went  to  the  window  and,  throwing 
back  the  curtains,  watched  the  changing  lights 
in  the  eastern  sky,  watched  them  until,  far  up 
toward  the  north,  there  appeared  above  the 
horizon  a  little  streamer  of  brightness  that 
suddenly  assumed  a  coppery,  reddish  hue.  It 
reminded  me  of  Marjorie's  hair,  so  that  I 
shuddered.  I  suppose  any  woman  who  has 
done  a  terrible  thing  sees  the  color  of  her  sin 
everywhere. 

At  the  end  of  my  endurance  at  last,  I  re 
solved  to  go  to  George.  Up  to  that  moment 
I  had  had  the  idea — if,  indeed,  I  had  been 
capable  of  any  clear  idea  at  all — that  I  should 


MKS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  281 

not  approach  him  until  after  I  had  in  some 
way  done  penance.  I  would  put  it  off,  I  had 
thought,  until  I  had  confessed  my  guilt  to  the 
prosecuting  attorney,  so  that  I  might  return 
to  George  and  tell  him  I  had  not  been  afraid 
to  face  the  consequences. 

But  now  that  plan  faded.  My  husband,  he 
alone,  had  the  right  to  my  first  confidence.  It 
was  his  name  that  I  had  brought  to  disgrace. 
Surely,  his  was  the  sorry  privilege  of  advising 
me  as  to  the  course  he  preferred  me  to  take. 

In  a  moment,  clad  in  a  dressing  gown,  stock 
ings  and  slippers,  with  my  hair  one  long  braid 
down  my  back,  I  rushed  along  the  hall  to  his 
room.  At  his  door,  I  stopped,  suddenly  feel 
ing  all  cold  and  weak.  My  wild  thoughts  took 
on  the  guise  of  a  reproach  of  myself.  This 
was  not  such  a  meeting  as  I  should  have 
planned !  I  would  have  preferred  to  have  him 
find  me  more  beautiful  than  ever  before.  I 
should  have  shown  him  a  great  radiance  in  my 
eyes,  smiles  on  my  lips,  an  exquisite  charm 
wrapping  me  about.  I  should  have  been 
dressed  in  white,  with  a  great  red  rose  at  my 
breast,  and 

All  at  once  I  was  aware  that  a  thin  thread 
of  light  came  through  the  keyhole.  He  was 
awake,  then;  out  of  bed  at  such  an  hour! 


282  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

Panic  drove  me  to  action.  I  knocked  on  the 
door. 

With  amazing  quickness,  it  was  thrown 
open,  a  flood  of  light  half -blinded  me,  and  my 
husband  stood  before  me.  Slowly,  like  one  in 
a  trance,  I  walked  past  him,  into  the  room.  I 
heard  the  door  click  shut  before  I  turned  and 
looked  at  him.  He  had  on  slippers  and  his 
favorite,  worn  old  dressing  gown.  In  his  left 
hand  was  a  crook-stemmed  pipe  from  which 
the  smoke  curled  slowly,  and  he  had  the  fore 
finger  of  his  right  hand  between  the  pages  of 
a  book  which  he  had  been  reading. 

He  stood  near  the  door  and  studied  me  in 
amazement  for  one  fleeting  moment. 

'  You  look  so  tired !  "  he  said,  in  a  troubled, 
perplexed  voice,  and  did  not  move  nearer 
to  me. 

"  Oh,  George,"  I  said,  feeling  choked  and 
weak,  "  may  I  talk  to  you?  " 

At  that,  he  hurried  forward  and  rolled  a 
chair  to  where  I  stood. 

"  If  you  only  would,"  he  answered,  a  little 
catch  in  his  voice. 

I  sank  into  the  chair,  and  he  would  have 
touched  me,  but  I  kept  him  away  with  a 
gesture. 

When  I  shivered,  he  seized  the  tongs  with 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  283 

the  hand  that  held  his  pipe  and  made  nervous, 
ineffective  jabs  at  the  smouldering  logs. 

"  I've  come  to  tell  you  the  most  awful 
thing." 

I  felt  the  compelling  need  of  warning  him, 
of  preparing  him  to  bear  the  blow. 

He  went  to  the  table  and  laid  down  his  book 
and  pipe.  Mechanically,  he  marked  his  place 
by  putting  the  pipe  between  the  pages.  He 
seemed  extraordinarily  moved,  and  stood  wait 
ing  for  me  to  speak.  He  cleared  his  throat 
noisily. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said  finally.  "Tell  me, 
please,  anything." 

He  drew  up  a  chair  and  sat  down  directly 
facing  me.  His  eyes  looked  heavy  and  dull. 

'  You  have  a  right  to  know,"  I  temporized, 
and  then  burst  forth:  "  George,  do  you  want 
to  hear  it  if  it  is  the  most  terrible,  quite  the 
most  terrible,  thing  in  all  the  world? " 

"  I  want  to  hear  anything  you  want  to  tell 
me,"  he  answered. 

I  could  not  tell  whether  he  loved  me  or  was 
merely  sorry  for  me,  he  was  so  grave,  so  care 
ful  in  the  choice  of  his  words. 

"I  must  tell  you!"  I  exclaimed  in  a 
tremulous  voice,  and  at  once  tried  to  be  calm. 
"  George,  I  killed  Marjorie  Nesbit." 


284  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

He  looked  at  me  while  a  little  frown  drew 
his  brows  together  and  his  eyes  narrowed 
slightly,  as  if  he  studied  me  and  my  words 
with  agonizing  intentness. 

"  With  my  own  hands,"  I  added  in  a 
whisper. 

"You  killed  her!" 

His  words  came  from  the  back  of  his  throat, 
metallic,  all  of  the  same  note,  and  his  lips  did 
not  move  perceptibly. 

I  tried  to  say  "  yes  "  and  could  only  nod 
my  head. 

He  brushed  his  hand  swiftly  across  his  eyes 
once,  and  looked  at  me  again  with  that  specu 
lative,  puzzled  frown. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you're  saying? "  he 
asked  at  last,  and  I  saw  that  his  left  hand, 
which  had  lain  curiously  still  and  loose  on  his 
knees,  trembled. 

"  Perfectly — D  R  knows  it,  too — I've  re 
membered  at  last." 

He  reached  a  standing  posture  very  slowly 
and  came  to  my  side,  his  feet  uncertain  and 
awkward,  like  the  steps  of  an  automaton. 

I  felt  his  hand,  very  steady  now,  on  my 
shoulder. 

"  You  poor  child,"  he  said  in  a  low,  tortured 
voice.  "  You  poor  child.  You  poor  child," 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  285 

I  tried  to  speak  and  couldn't.  I  think  he 
did  too. 

Then  he  came  around  in  front  of  me,  his 
feet  moving  with  the  same  stiff  awkwardness, 
and,  very  deliberately  and  very  slowly,  he  took 
me  in  his  arms  and  sat  down  in  my  chair  with 
me  on  his  lap. 

*  You  poor  child.  Poor  Ruth,"  he  kept 
saying,  his  fingers  stroking  my  hair  in  rapid, 
jerky  movements.  "  Poor  Ruth — poor  Ruth." 

I  was  afraid  to  look  at  him  again.  I  knew 
that,  if  I  did,  I  would  collapse  utterly. 

I  sat  up  straight  and  looked  at  the  fire  while 
I  told  him  the  whole  story,  how  D  R  had  at 
last  brought  back  to  me  my  memory,  how  I 
had  spent  the  evening  and  night  making  up  my 
mind  that  I  must  face  the  punishment  for  what 
I  had  done  and  that  I  must  bring  the  story 
to  him.  And  from  that  I  went  on,  in  a 
monotonous,  strained  voice  that  sounded 
entirely  foreign  to  me,  how  I  had  wronged 
him,  how  I  really  loved  him,  how  I  had  loved 
him  all  the  time,  and  how  I  knew  that  he  could 
no  longer  love  me. 

'  You  couldn't,  you  see,"  I  concluded,  my 
eyes  still  averted  from  his.  "  I'm  not  at  all 
the  sort  of  woman  you  thought  I  was." 

"  But  I  do,"  he  said,  patting  my  hand. 


286  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

I  turned  my  head  and  looked  at  him,  fear 
and  wonder  and  belief  struggling  with  each 
other  in  my  mind. 

"  No  matter  what  you  have  done  or  what  is 
done  to  you,  I  love  you,"  he  pronounced,  as  if 
he  dealt,  unsurprised,  with  one  of  the  immu 
table  facts  of  nature. 

He  seemed  oddly  constrained.  I  looked  at 
him  wide-eyed,  unable  as  yet  to  comprehend 
clearly  the  significance  of  what  he  had  told  me. 

He  put  his  left  hand  on  the  back  of  my  neck 
and  his  right  on  my  left  arm.  He  leaned 
toward  me  a  little. 

"Might  I '  he  began;  and  ended  by 

saying,  "  Kiss  me,  heart  of  my  heart." 

He  kissed  me  again  and  again. 

"  It  has  been  so  long — so  long,"  he  said 
huskily. 

I  lay  in  his  arms,  weeping  convulsively,  my 
tears  so  hot  that  they  seemed  to  burn  my  face. 
My  feeling  was  not  one  of  happiness.  I 
wished  that  he  would  hurt  me,  punish  me 
cruelly  for  all  I  had  made  him  suffer. 

It  was  a  long  time — an  hour,  perhaps — be 
fore  he  forced  himself  to  face  the  realities  that 
confronted  me,  that  confronted  both  of  us. 
And  he  did  it  in  a  way  that  made  me  feel  like 


MES.  MAKDEN'S  OEDEAL  287 

throwing  myself  at  his  feet  and  begging  his 
forgiveness  over  and  over  and  over. 

"  Doctor  Doyle  spent  the  night  in  the  house 
here,"  he  said.  "  Suppose  we  call  him." 

"  D  R  was  here,  is  here  nowl "  I  exclaimed. 

And  I  cried  again,  like  a  baby,  weakly,  not 
trying  to  check  the  tears.  They  were  so  good 
to  me !  Everybody  was.  D  R  had  kept  him 
self  at  my  very  elbow,  so  as  to  help  me  if  I 
needed  him. 

George  rang  for  Jeffries  and  sent  him  to 
tell  D  R  to  come.  It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock 
now. 

When  D  R  entered  the  room,  he  found  us 
in  our  dressing  gowns.  George  was  throwing 
a  fresh  log  on  the  fire. 

"  Ah!  "  said  DR.     "I  am  so  glad." 

He  pressed  the  hand  I  had  put  out  toward 
him.  I  was  still  crying. 

"  Doctor,  I  want  your  advice,"  said  George. 
'  We  must  decide  what's  to  be  done.  This  is 
Sunday.  Corcoran's  trial  comes  up  to 
morrow." 

Something  in  his  tone  brought  back  my 
composure.  As  he  stood  there  in  front  of  the 
fire,  his  hair  disheveled,  his  dressing  gown 
bagging  a  little  over  the  belt  cord,  he  had  very 
plainly  the  bearing  of  a  king. 


288  MRS.  HARDEN' S  ORDEAL 

"  It  depends  on  Ruth,"  answered  D  R. 
"  How  she  feels,  what  she  wishes,  how  much 
she  can  endure — she  has  been  through  so  very 
much." 

"  I  want  to  get  it  over,  D  R,"  I  said,  "  for 
George's  sake  and  for  my  own.  If  necessary, 
let  me  make  a  statement  to  the  judge,  or  the 
police,  or  somebody.  Let  me  give  Charlie  his 
freedom,  and  let  me  know  what  my  punish 
ment  is  to  be." 

At  that,  George's  lips  twitched.  I  think  I 
knew  just  how  he  suffered. 

"  But,"  objected  D  R,  "  can  you  stand  it? 
Can  you  go  through  with  it?  I  can  have  it  all 
postponed,  you  know — a  statement  from  me  as 
to  your  health." 

"  No !  No  I  "  I  cried.  "  Please,  please,  let 
us  face  it  all." 

They  talked  it  over  for  half  an  hour  and 
decided  to  retain  Mr.  Rittenhouse  as  my  coun 
sel.  They  would  have  their  breakfast  and  go 
to  see  him  at  once. 

"  In  the  meantime,"  D  R  commanded  me, 
"  you  must  be  put  to  bed  and  made  to  sleep." 

George  brought  me  back  to  my  room,  and 
in  a  little  while  D  R  came  in  and  gave  me 
morphine.  He  promised  that  George  would 
wake  me  as  soon  as  he  returned  from  the  con- 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  289 

ference  with  the  lawyer,  and  tell  me  what 
decision  they  had  reached. 

I  went  to  sleep,  with  Mildred  sitting  beside 
my  bed.  The  last  thing  I  remember  say 
ing  was: 

"  I  was  going  to  do  so  much — and  now  my 
husband  is  doing  everything." 

I  was  awake  before  George  came  back  at 
three  this  afternoon.  His  face  was  lined.  He 
looked  as  if  he  had  not  slept  for  days  and  days. 
But  his  tenderness  to  me,  his  solicitude  for 
me,  gave  no  hint  of  the  tragedy  in  his  soul. 

This  is  what  they  had  decided  on: 

Nothing  was  to  be  done  today  or  tonight. 
If  I  made  a  statement  to  any  of  the  authorities 
this  evening,  there  might  arise  a  question  of 
my  arrest.  They  would  make  the  statement 
to  Mr.  Harrow,  the  prosecuting  attorney, 
early  tomorrow  morning.  He  could  then  have 
an  indictment  prepared  and  handed  down  by 
the  grand  jury  in  time  for  the  case  against 
Charlie  to  be  dismissed  and  for  my  trial  to 
begin  by  eleven  o'clock  tomorrow. 

'  There  must  be  a  jury  trial,"  Mr.  Ritten- 
house  had  given  it  as  his  final  opinion.  '  The 
case  involves  the  matter  of  her  mental  con 
dition.  Therefore,  the  judge  could  not  rule 
on  her  plea  of  guilty  or  not  guilty." 


290  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

And  now,  tonight,  D  R  and  George  and  Mr. 
Rittenhouse,  with  his  law  partners,  are  in  con 
sultation,  have  been  for  several  hours.  I  do 
not  understand  what  takes  up  so  much  time. 
D  R  is  to  be  a  witness,  and  I  am  to  take  the 
stand  and  tell  my  story.  Surely,  nothing  else 
will  be  required. 

The  outcome? 

For  myself,  I  do  not  care  in  the  slightest. 
No  punishment  that  may  be  meted  out  to  me 
can  compare  in  kind  or  in  degree  with  what  I 
have  suffered  today.  I  have  seen  my  own 
husband  crucified  on  the  cross  of  my  crime. 
I  have  heard  him  and  D  R  discuss  in  tense, 
groping  phrases  ways  and  means  to  save — not 
my  character  and  good  name,  for  tomorrow 
that  part  of  me  will  be  exposed  to  the  gibes 
and  mockery  of  the  world — but  to  save  my 
body  from  imprisonment. 

I  have  had  all  that  added  to  my  remorse  for 
Marjorie's  death,  remorse  for  that,  and  my  in 
comparable  self-contempt  because  I  have 
learned  my  own  unworthiness.'  I  think,  when 
one  recognizes  one's  unworthiness  without  ex 
cuses  and  without  hypocritical  self-comfort, 
there  is  no  other  punishment  that  can  be  utterly 
unbearable. 

But    George — when    I    glimpse    what    he 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  291 

faces,  in  his  clubs,  among  his  business  associ 
ates,  in  his  own  heart,  in  every  way,  I  can 
neither  write  nor  think.  Terror  seizes  hold 
of  me  and  shakes  me  like  a  reed. 

Ruth  Harden  goes  to  her  punishment  to 
morrow. 

George  Marden  goes  to  a  punishment  which, 
though  not  his  own,  will  be  more  bitter,  more 
intolerable  than  any  criminal's. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

FOR  five  hours  today — two  in  the  morning 
and  three  in  the  afternoon — I  sat  within 
the  counsel  rail  in  the  courtroom  while  hun 
dreds  of  people  sought  morbid  amusement  in 
reading  my  least  change  of  expression  and  in 
listening  to  dissections  of  my  past  thoughts 
and  emotions.  To  the  public,  I  suppose,  all 
murder  trials  seem  monotonously  alike.  It  is 
only  the  accused  who  knows  with  bitter  cer 
tainty  that  each  ordeal  is  a  special  inferno,  and 
that  to  have  one's  privacy  torn  completely  from 
one  is,  in  a  sense,  even  more  horrible  than  to 
be  tried  for  one's  life. 

Facts  and  opinions  are  written  into  a  record 
which  can  never  be  blotted  out.  Whatever 
punishment  may  be  dealt  out  to  one,  one  finds 
oneself,  at  the  end  of  the  trial,  with  a  feeling 
of  having  suffered  an  irremediable  thing.  It 
is  an  emotion  like  that  of  the  man  who  is  pub 
licly  flogged.  It  can  not  be  defined  in  words, 
but  it  is  woefully  clear  to  the  one  who  has 
endured  it.  One  feels  ashamed,  as  if  half- 
naked.  One  realizes  that  one  has  done  some- 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  293 

thing  which  has  taken  away  one's  right  to  say  to 
the  public,  "  Do  not  come  too  near;  there  are 
secrets  in  my  soul  which  you  may  not  read." 

To  a  woman,  there  could  come  no  more 
humiliating  sensation  than  this.  To  be 
pilloried  physically  is  terrible.  To  have  one's 
emotions  painted  on  the  drab  atmosphere  of  a 
courtroom  and  to  know  that  the  mob  ridicules 
the  picture,  is  even  more  terrible. 

From  the  moment  I  stepped  into  the  auto 
mobile  this  morning  with  George  and  a  police 
man  in  plain  clothes — I  could  see  the  bright 
metal  star  on  his  vest — until  the  trial  ended, 
I  maintained  my  composure.  This  was  not 
because  I  was  brave.  It  was  because  I  had 
come  to  a  keen  realization  of  the  fact  that 
neither  tears  nor  bravado  could  affect  the  in 
evitable,  logical  result.  I  was  like  one  who, 
having  been  tortured  to  the  limit  of  endurance, 
feels  toward  the  future  a  cold  contempt,  a  false 
stoicism. 

As  I  sat  in  the  courtroom  beside  George, 
with  Mr.  Rittenhouse  in  front  of  me  and 
Charlie  a  few  seats  away,  I  did  not  consciously 
look  at  anybody,  and  yet  I  was  aware  that  Mrs. 
Mason  was  in  the  crowd  on  my  right,  and  that 
in  the  room  were  a  great  many  other  women 
who  knew  me — women,  in  fact,  at  whose  tables 


294  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

I  had  dined,  women  who  had  always  been  glad 
of  invitations  to  my  home.  And  I  was  dis 
tressed  by  the  ever-recurrent  wish  that  every 
body  there  had  been  a  complete  stranger  to  me. 

I  perceive  it  must  be  so  in  any  great  afflic 
tion — this  painful  conviction  that,  after  all, 
there  are  so  few  friends  who  are  capable  of  the 
holy  rites  of  friendship. 

The  swift  formality  of  the  prosecuting  attor 
ney's  withdrawing  the  case  against  Charlie  and 
having  him  discharged  from  custody,  as  had 
been  agreed  with  the  judge  beforehand,  was 
followed  by  my  being  put  on  trial.  As  it  de 
veloped  that  I,  not  Charlie,  was  the  accused, 
there  was  in  the  crowd  back  of  me  and  around 
me  a  subdued  commotion,  a  shuffling  of  feet, 
a  rustling  of  skirts,  a  sibilance  of  sharp,  low 
whispering.  It  affected  me  like  a  material 
thing,  something  which  pressed  upon  me  and 
made  me  feel  the  need  of  added  strength. 

By  agreement  between  Mr.  Harrow  and 
Mr.  Rittenhouse,  I  was  called  to  the  stand  as 
soon  as  the  jury  had  been  impaneled — an  hour 
had  been  given  up  to  that  work,  during  which 
I  had  sat  motionless,  my  glance  toward  the 
floor,  my  body  stilled  by  strange  inertia. 

While  I  testified  against  myself,  I  was  aware 
of  only  two  things,  the  faces  of  Harrow  and 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  295 

Rittenhouse.  They  seemed  abnormally  large, 
and  they  loomed  before  me,  attracting  my  gaze 
irresistibly.  The  rest  of  the  people  were  only 
blurs. 

When  I  spoke,  my  voice  was  very  weak.  It 
had  a  thin,  faded  effect,  and  it  was  only  by  the 
greatest  muscular  effort  that  I  could  keep  it 
to  anything  like  an  audible  pitch. 

I  can  not  recall  all  I  said.  I  do  remember 
saying  this : 

"  That  is  true,  I  killed  her.     .     .     . 

"  I  was  jealous  of  her — had  been  jealous  of 
her  for  a  good  many  months — about  my  hus 
band.  .  .  . 

4 '  No;  I  had  no  real  foundation  for  it.    .    .    . 

'  When  my  memory  did  return,  the  whole 
scene  came  back  to  me.  I  had  gone  into  the 
conservatory  without  any  idea  of  finding  her. 
But,  when  I  saw  her  sitting  there  with  her  back 
to  me,  I  was  seized  by  the  blind,  irresistible  de 
sire  to  be  rid  of  her,  to — to  kill  her.  I  grasped 
her  throat  before  she  knew  I  was  anywhere 
near.  .  .  . 

'  Yes.     I  choked  her  to  death.     . 

;'  I  remembered  it  only  the  night  before 
last.  .  .  . 

"  No;  I  never  had  any  idea  of  trying  to  con 
ceal  it.  ." 


296  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

Charlie  followed  me  on  the  stand.  D  R 
and  Mr.  Rittenhouse  had  seen  him  earlier  in 
the  morning  and  persuaded  him  I  wanted  him 
to  tell  what  he  knew.  He  did  it  with  great 
reluctance,  and  his  story  was  drawn  from  him 
practically  in  monosyllables  by  the  many  ques 
tions  of  Mr.  Harrow. 

From  the  veranda,  he  had  seen  me  in  the 
conservatory,  and,  realizing  that  something 
serious  had  happened,  had  rushed  in  and  asked 
me  what  I  had  done,  and  I  had  told  him  I  had 
killed  her.  It  was  then  that  he  remembered 
having  seen  the  tramp  Riggles,  and,  hoping  to 
shut  up  the  affair  and  not  believing  Marjorie 
was  dead,  he  had  first  gotten  rid  of  Riggles. 
It  had  not  occurred  to  him,  he  said,  that  his 
action  was  a  covering  up  of  evidence  that  the 
State  should  have  had. 

After  that,  came  the  recess — so  that  the 
justice  machine  might  lunch.  George  was 
permitted  to  be  with  me  in  a  little  room,  or  cell, 
in  the  basement  of  the  building.  Neither  he 
nor  I  talked.  I  think  we  both  had  the  idea 
that  we  must  conserve  our  strength.  Only 
once  he  asked  me  how  I  felt,  and  I  assured 
him  that  I  felt  certain  of  myself,  of  my 
endurance. 

The  afternoon  was  given  up  to  the  testimony 


MES.  HABDEN'S  OEDEAL  297 

of  D  R  and  two  other  sanity  experts.  My  fate 
hinged  on  whether  I  was  insane  at  the  time  of 
the  murder  and  whether  I  was  sane  now.  The 
fact,  that  is  the  establishment  of  my  having 
committed  the  crime,  was  proved,  unques 
tioned.  It  remained  only  to  say  whether  I  had 
been  responsible  in  a  legal  sense  for  the  act 
when  it  was  done. 

In  giving  his  opinion  in  my  favor,  D  R 
talked  continuously  for  forty  minutes.  What 
he  said  was  a  repetition  of  what  he  had  taught 
me  during  the  weeks  of  my  analysis.  To  me, 
it  seemed  neither  novel  nor  particularly  strik 
ing,  but  it  made  such  a  sensation  that  re 
porters  got  verbatim  copies  of  it,  stating 
that  their  papers  would  print  it  tomorrow 
as  a  distinct  contribution  to  medico-legal 
science. 

Before  he  had  finished  explaining  how  I  had 
been  totally  irresponsible  and  how  many  peo 
ple's  acts  are  the  results  of  what  has  happened 
to  them  in  childhood,  two  of  the  jurors  were  in 
tears. 

Doctor  Donald,  the  alienist  from  New  York, 
testified  to  nothing  that  contradicted  D  R's 
claim  of  my  irresponsibility,  nor  did  the  other, 
Doctor  Richards. 

Although  what  D  R  had  said  had  made  no 


298  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

special  impression  upon  me,  I  was  sure,  when 
he  finished,  that  I  would  be  acquitted.  I  think 
everybody  in  the  courtroom  felt  the  same  way. 
It  was  in  the  atmosphere.  It  is  curious  how 
one  feels  at  times  the  force  of  others'  thoughts. 
I  felt  that  as  plainly  as  if  it  had  been  written 
on  the  wall  in  front  of  me. 

When  the  acquittal  actually  did  come,  fol 
lowing  the  very  brief  speeches  of  the  lawyers, 
I  was  not  surprised.  I  felt  no  strong  emotion 
one  way  or  the  other.  And,  for  some  reason, 
the  spectators  evinced  neither  disapproval 
nor  emphatic  pleasure.  As  I  made  my  way 
with  George  through  a  side  door,  there  was 
almost  complete  silence  about  me.  I  had  the 
odd  sense  that  the  people  kept  their  seats  so 
as  to  lose  no  possible  sight  of  me  before  I  dis 
appeared  through  the  doorway,  or  that  pathos 
still  gripped  them. 

I  have  tried  to  set  down  here  everything  I 
remember  about  the  trial.  I  believe  I  have 
done  that.  To  the  person  on  trial,  I  think 
there  comes  no  opportunity  for  sensing  the 
dramatic  and  the  important  in  what  happens — 
things  rush  upon  the  mind  like  clouds,  vague, 
confusing;  nothing  is  clear-cut.  The  accused, 
the  guilty,  is  overwhelmed  by  a  sense  of  small- 
ness,  of  futility.  To  be  a  prisoner  is  to  realize 


MES.  MAKDEN'S  OEDEAL  299 

that  the  strength  of  organized  society  is  irre 
sistible  when  it  is  set  in  motion. 

I  had  that  feeling.  I  knew  that  all  I  could 
do  was  to  sit  still  and  let  the  machinery  go  on. 
To  me,  details  were  valueless  for  the  time 
being. 

But  what  I  do  remember  I  write  down  here 
because  I  know  now  that  every  detail  of  my 
experience — and  only  that  which  impresses  it 
self  on  the  mind  is  experience — in  connection 
with  the  tragedy  of  Marjorie's  death  must 
some  day  be  of  tremendous  value  to  me.  I 
know  that  I  shall  return  to  all  the  details,  and 
that  I  must  learn  useful  things  from  them.  I 
can  not  do  it  immediately.  I  seem  now  to 
have  exhausted  my  strength,  my  capacity  for 
estimating  anything. 

But  later  I  must  reshape  my  life,  and  my 
sufferings  must  be  taken  and  molded  by  me 
into  the  very  foundation  of  the  structure. 

George  is  sitting  beside  me  as  I  write  this. 
Of  his  emotions,  of  his  undeserved  punishment, 
I  have  not  had  the  courage  to  write.  Perhaps 
it  is  as  well — for,  out  of  his  suffering,  he  has 
fashioned  already  a  new  and  more  glorious 
nobility  for  himself.  The  Greathearts  of  the 
world  are  like  that.  And  what  can  I  say? 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

SINCE  my  trial,  two  months  have  passed. 
During  this  time,  I  believe,  I  have  learned 
the  two  great  lessons  which  I  had  to  learn  be 
fore  life  could  mean  anything  to  me  at  all. 
One  of  these  is  that,  no  matter  what  people 
have  been  saying  to  the  contrary  for  centuries, 
one  may  take  one's  embittered,  crippled  past 
and  so  regard  it  and  so  study  it  as  to  draw  from 
it  useful  and  beneficent  teachings.  Even  a 
woman,  toward  whose  past  the  world  is  always 
revengeful,  can  do  that. 

The  other  is  that,  if  one  has  outraged  an 
other's  love,  one  may  revivify  it,  may  make  it 
more  glorious,  through  that  generous,  in 
cessant,  whole-hearted  labor  of  love  about 
which  D  R  talked  to  me  during  his  analysis  of 
me.  Indeed,  one  may  reglorify  one's  own 
capacity  for  loving  at  the  same  time  that  one 
makes  oneself  more  lovable  to  another. 

To  any  individual  who  has  taken  a  human 
life,  suffering  pays  visits  that  are  frequent, 
visits  that  are  long.  The  only  possible  way  to 
rise  above  that  suffering,  or  to  prevent  one's 


MES.  MAEDE^'S  OEDEAL  301 

self-reproaches  from  reducing  one  to  abject 
terror,  is  to  determine  that,  for  the  future,  one 
will  be  superior  to  adverse  circumstance  and 
that  the  business  of  expiation  admits  of  neither 
purposeless  lamentation  nor  consciousness  of 
permanent  defeat.  And  one  may  do  that  only 
through  an  unchanging,  I  might  almost  say  a 
fierce,  desire  to  make  oneself  worthy  of  love,  of 
somebody's  love. 

To  all  of  this,  George  has  helped  me  with  a 
devotion  which  I  can  not  describe,  a  devotion, 
in  fact,  so  unswerving  and  so  perfect  that  I 
can  not  find  the  words  even  to  intimate  its 
sweetness  and  its  unfailing  strength. 

Two  days  after  my  acquittal  he  brought  me 
down  here  to  the  mountains  of  North  Carolina. 
We  have  a  little  house  on  the  edge  of  Asheville. 
The  place  is  indescribably  lovely  and  healing— 
here  one,  by  the  mere  act  of  breathing  the 
clear,  clean  air  and  by  watching  the  loveliness 
of  the  mountains  and  the  sunshine,  is  given 
new  vigor  for  the  tired  body,  a  mysterious 
balm  for  the  tired  spirit. 

At  first,  I  was  weary,  almost  apathetic,  I 
had  been  through  such  an  awful  strain.  D  R 
is  amazed  to  this  day  that  I  did  not  collapse 
physically.  But,  in  a  little  while,  strength 
came  back  to  me,  and  I  could  study  all  the 


302  MRS.  MARDEN'S  ORDEAL 

things  that  had  affected  me  and  would  affect 
me. 

I  know  now  that,  for  a  few  years  at  least, 
I  can  not  resume  my  old  place  in  the  world. 
The  very  idea  of  my  going  back  to  Washington 
now  and  trying  to  take  up  the  round  of  my 
former  duties  and  occupations  is  grotesque. 
It  would  be  no  less  grotesque  to  others  if  I 
tried  it.  My  very  appearance  there  would  be 
the  signal  for  flurries,  doubts,  open  antago 
nisms,  on  the  part  of  those  women  who,  such  a 
short  time  ago,  were  my  acquaintances  and 
friends.  People  do  not  "  receive  "  one  who 
has  killed  a  human  being. 

I  understand  that  perfectly.  I  think  I  am 
glad  of  it.  My  present  business  is  with  my 
husband  and  myself.  Later  on — in  several 
years,  perhaps — I  shall  go  back  and  receive, 
and  be  received  by,  the  people  who  really  count. 
Men  and  women,  as  a  rule,  forget  easily;  and 
when  one,  even  if  one  has  offended  horribly, 
makes  reparation  in  one's  daily  life,  one  finally 
is  accorded  forgiveness,  forgiveness  in  some 
degree  or  other,  through  the  innate  kindness 
of  humanity.  However,  that  lies  in  the  rather 
distant  future,  and  I  shall  not  worry  about  it 
now. 

Today  I  am  breathless  with  gratitude  as  I 


MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL  303 

contemplate  the  fact  that  George  loves  me  and 
is  boyishly  happy  in  his  realization  that  I  love 
him  as  I  do.  That  he  does  love  me,  proves 
forever  the  truth  of  what  D  R  told  me:  a 
neurotic  woman  builds  up  tragedy  for  herself 
out  of  trifles.  And  how,  in  my  discontented, 
unreasonable,  fevered  moods,  I  did  exaggerate 
trifles  into  real  griefs,  these  two  months  have 
shown  me  with  unmistakable  clearness. 

Most  important  of  all,  there  are  to  be  chil 
dren.  At  first,  I  recoiled  from  that,  thinking 
that  a  woman  disgraced  as  I  was  by  my  trial 
and  by  my  crime,  had  no  right  to  bring  into 
the  world  others  who  might  share,  in  some 
sense,  the  results  of  her  offences.  But,  contra 
dicting  that,  came  my  firm  conviction  that,  be 
cause  I  had  failed  in  one  respect,  was  no  excuse 
for  my  failing  to  carry  out  the  highest  duty 
possible  for  any  woman. 

Besides,  it  is  only  by  having  children  that  I 
may  make  amends  for  what  I  did  and  what 
was  done  to  me.  There  is  only  one  way  in 
which  I  can  prevent  my  ignominy  from  doing 
me  good.  That  would  be  by  failing  to  take 
advantage  of  the  lessons  it  has  taught  me.  I 
know  how  little  children,  the  men  and  women 
of  tomorrow,  may  be  made  inefficient,  un 
happy,  wretchedly  inadequate.  By  the  same 


304  MES.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

token,  I  think  I  know  how  love  and  under 
standing,  beautiful  ideals  and  lovely  purposes, 
must  inevitably  guide  them  from  an  un 
troubled  childhood  into  careers  of  usefulness 
and  content. 

From  my  mother's  mistakes  as  well  as  from 
my  own,  there  has  come  to  me — I  will  not 
say  wisdom — but  sufficient  appreciation  and 
knowledge  to  keep  the  fetters  and  manacles 
from  "  the  feet  of  their  souls  and  the  hands  of 
their  souls."  Surely,  if  I  succeed  in  that,  my 
mistakes  and  offences  will  not  have  been  in 
vain.  I  will  have  justified  my  right  to  live, 
my  right  to  expect  for  the  rest  of  my  days  a 
great  peace  and  a  holy  happiness. 

All  this  reminds  me  of  what  Charlie  Cor 
coran  said  when  I  saw  him  the  day  before 
George  and  I  left  Washington. 

I  had  sent  for  him  so  that  I  might  thank  him 
for  what  he  had  done  for  me.  When  he  came 
into  the  room,  I  knew  that  it  was  as  impossible 
for  me  to  find  expression  for  my  gratitude  as 
it  would  be  now  for  me  to  describe  in  words 
the  majesty  of  these  mountains  or  the  golden 
glory  of  these  sunsets.  Magnificent  actions 
are  like  flowers.  Although  they  may  flood  the 
world  with  sweetness  and  charm  a  million  eyes 
with  their  loveliness,  they  defy  adequate 


MES.  BCABDEHT8  OEDEAL  305 

description,  elude  the  compass  of  language 
altogether. 

"  I  can't  tell  you,"  I  said  brokenly.  "  I  can't 
say  -  —  Oh,  there  is  nothing  to  express " 

Then  I  stood  up  in  front  of  him  while  two 
tears  gathered  in  my  eyes  and  ran  down  my 
cheeks. 

He  seemed  greatly  confused. 

"  Good  Lord,  Ruth!  "  he  begged.  "  Don't 
cry.  There's  nothing  to  cry  about — really." 

I  uttered  a  little  whimpering  moan. 

"  Thanks-  I  began,  and  finally  said: 

'  You  understand  how  lovely  I  know  it  was 
in  you  to  - 

He  became  very  serious. 

"  Listen,  Ruth.  This  is  the  last  time  this 
will  ever  be  mentioned  between  us.  I  did  you 
a  favor,  you  seem  to  think.  Well  and  good. 
You,  you  know,  you  saved  me  from  the  Gil- 
more  woman.  So  we're  quits." 

He  turned  toward  the  table  and  lit  a  ciga 
rette. 

"  I  just  wanted  to  say  this,"  he  told  me  in 
a  curious,  hurried  voice,  "  I  came  here  to  say  it: 
you  are  the  bravest  woman  I  ever  knew.  You, 
more  than  anybody  I  ever  knew,  have  the  right 
to  years  of  happiness,  wonderful  happiness. 
You've  earned  it.  You've  undone  your  own 


306  MRS.  MAEDEN'S  OEDEAL 

mistakes  and  the  mistakes  of  others  through 
your  courage,  your  stupendous  courage.  By 
comparison,  what  I  did  was  nothing." 

He  laughed  lightly,  as  if  he  sought  to  hide 
an  embarrassment  he  had  caused  himself  by 
his  unwonted  solemnity. 

After  that,  he  talked  about  other  things,  the 
plans  for  my  trip,  his  own  plans  for  entering 
the  aviation  corps. 

Since  then,  I  have  liked  to  think  that  what 
he  said  was  true:  that  I  really  "  have  the  right 
to  years  of  wonderful  happiness." 

And  the  words  of  D  R,  which  gave  me  my 
first  comfort  when  we  were  working  to  regain 
my  lost  memory,  come  back  to  me: 

"I  do  not  find  it  hard  to  believe  that 
Benedict  Arnold  was  a  traitor  because  in  his 
childhood  he  heard,  through  some  half-open 
door,  his  father  saying  strange,  ugly  things 
for  money — or  that  Judas  bartered  away  his 
soul  because,  as  a  little  boy,  he  saw  his  own 
mother  sell  her  scarlet  lips  for  gold." 

Surely,  such  knowledge  as  that,  a  knowledge 
written  on  the  tablets  of  my  soul  by  my  own 
experience,  will  enable  me  to  find  within  my 
self  a  great  love  for  all  people,  an  inexhaustible 
forbearance,  unsuspected  sweetness  of  char 
acter,  and  an  unalterable  conviction  that 


MES.  MAEDEM  OEDEAL  307 

everybody  deserves,  in  some  way  or  another, 
the  love  and  compassion  of  the  world. 

To  the  casual  observer,  my  life  seems  ruined, 
blasted  beyond  all  hope.  But  to  me,  as  long 
as  I  am  capable  of  loving  and  as  long  as  I  have 
the  love  of  even  one  person,  it  seems  chastened, 
purified,  endowed  with  even  greater  oppor 
tunities,  more  gorgeous  duties,  than  I,  a  little 
while  ago,  thought  humanly  possible. 

The  future? 

It  is  full  of  my  husband's  content.  It  has 
in  it  already  the  music  of  children's  happy 
laughter.  It  is  a  field  in  which  I  shall  find 
many  flowers  blooming — flowers  for  others  as 
well  as  for  myself. 


By  the  author  of  "The  Crumble" 


THE  HOPE  CHEST 


By   MARK    LEE    LUTHER 

Frontispiece  by  James   Montgomery  Flagg.      12m«.     Cloth 
$1.50  net 


Tom  Ballantine,  whose  father  was  a  millionaire  candy 
manufacturer,  maintaining  a  chain  of  candy  stores  notable 
for  the  youth  and  beauty  of  their  clerks,  went  the  rounds  of 
the  stores  on  an  inspection  trip.  He  decided  Sheila  Moore 
was  the  prize  beauty  and  secretly  married  her  after  a  tem 
pestuous  courtship  of  two  weeks.  Thereupon  began  the  "ro 
mantic  adventures  of  the  millionaire  and  the  shop  girl"  which 
are  decidedly  not  of  the  usual  melodramatic  sort.  When  the 
marriage  was  disclosed  Tom's  father  immediately  took  an 
active  hand  in  affairs  with  the  result  that  young  Tom  was 
packed  off  to  finish  his  course  at  Harvard,  and  Sheila  was  sent 
to  a  fashionable  finishing  school  as  Miss  Moore — a  ward  of 
the  senior  Ballantine.  But  there  are  complications  to  follow 
so  that  the  reader  is  engrossed  to  the  very  end.  Mr.  Luther 
has  taken  full  advantage  of  all  the  possibilities  presented, 
and  "The  Hope  Chest"  is  a  social  comedy  of  a  high  order. 
Characters,  background,  incidents  —  all  are  cleverly  con 
ceived  and  deftly  handled. 


LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACOK  STREET,  BOSTON 


A  Romance  of  Business 


THE  BIOGRAPHY  OF  A 
MILLION  DOLLARS 


By  GEORGE   KIBBE   TURNER 

Illustrated.     12mo.     Decorated  cloth.     $1.50  net 


William  Morgan  is  a  machinist  with  no  capital  except  his 
remarkable  energy  and  shrewdness,  while  Pascal  Thomas  is 
a  dreamy  inventor  who  has  perfected  a  new  carburetor  for  a 
motor  cycle;  the  two  form  a  partnership  with  practically  no 
capital,  and  encounter  great  financial  difficulties  until  Proctor 
Billings,  a  local  banker,  intent  on  increasing  his  own  fortune, 
comes  Lo  their  rescue.  They  proceed  to  make  money,  but  as 
the  business  expands  Billings  secures  more  control,  and 
crowds  out  Thomas.  Morgan's  natural  interest  for  business 
urges  him  on  until  he  becomes  fairly  obsessed  with  his  work. 
His  wife  protests  in  vain.  Thomas'  extravagant  wife  in  the 
meantime  spends  money  freely,  and  she  is  not  always  fortunate 
in  the  selection  of  her  friends.  Morgan  continues  to  strive 
for  his  goal — one  million  dollars,  but  always  he  is  fearful  that 
the  cold,  canny  Billings  will  outwit  him.  Like  the  motor 
cycle  which  he  manufactures,  he  is  geared  for  high  speed, 
and  when  the  million  is  in  sight  he — but  the  ending  of  the 
story  must  be  read  to  be  appreciated.  It  is  all  told  with 
dramatic  intensity,  comparable  with  Morgan's  own  driving 
force. 

"The  Biography  of  a  Million  Dollars"  is  the  big  business 
story  of  the  decade.  Nothing  like  it  has  appeared  in  recent 
years.  It  is  a  story  of  speed,  of  greed,  of  love  and  hate,  of 
ambition  and  distrust,  a  narrative  that  grips  the  reader  and 
holds  him  enthralled  to  the  satisfactory  finale. 


LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 

34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


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